Ever After
by mossley
Summary: Life isn’t a fairy tale, and happily isn’t guaranteed. A dose of GS angst for your pleasure. The last section posted.
1. Chapter 1

**Ever After  
Summary: **Life isn't a fairy tale, and happily isn't guaranteed. A dose of G/S angst for your pleasure.  
**A/N: **All for Niff and Niff for all! Uh, okay, so that's not going to become a great rallying cry anytime soon. This is for Niff, who seems to be able to blackmail me effectively. ;-)

This starts immediately after "Way to Go", but the story will veer into vague spoiler territory by Part III. Gibby was nice enough to look over this for me, but I'm not going to share the typos.

**Rating: **This is probably PG-13. If you want something higher, insert the appropriate parts (pun intended) with whatever floats your boat.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own the show, the characters or even a single, lousy casino, so don't come looking for me if you want the rights.

* * *

**Part I**

Turning off the bedside lamp, Sara pulled on a robe, the pale silk shimmering in the dim light coming from the bathroom. Moving like a specter, she sank onto the edge of the bed, her eyes fixated on the nude figure there. For a long time she watched mutely, her troubled conscience at odds with the delight still tingling through her.

After a while, her hands reached out to roam his body. Sensitive fingers ran over his chest and shoulders, finding his muscles relaxed under the soft skin. A light sheen of sweat still lingered, evidence of their earlier exertions.

When Grissom stirred, muttering something into the pillow, she smiled and stopped her exploration. Leaning forward to kiss him lightly, she pulled the covers up slowly, lest she wake him. She had no doubts that her current examination would upset him if he were awake.

Since getting together, he had regularly used his eyes, fingers and mouth to memorize, and mesmerize, every inch of her body, slowly and methodically unveiling all she was. His inquisitive touches were passionate in lovemaking, reverent at other times. But he seemed unable to believe that she had the same interest in him, and Sara had quickly realized her fascination made him self-conscious. In rare stolen moments, she satisfied her curiosity while he slept; when her dreams haunted her, she took comfort in his solid presence.

Tonight was different, though, as his welfare directed her actions. Sleep stole the tension from his body, but the underlying stress took refuge in his subconscious. It wasn't like him to just roll over and fall asleep after lovemaking, and his behavior added to Sara's concern. The shooting left everyone shaken, and he was no exception.

Jim was one of his oldest, and one of the few, friends he had. Making life and death decisions for him had to have been rough. The wrong choice and Brass died. It didn't matter that he didn't shoot him, that he wasn't the one to operate – Griss made the call, and the weight of that responsibility bore heavily on him.

To the casual observer, Grissom handled the pressure well, but there was nothing casual about her observation. He'd slowly allowed her into his world, showing her glimmers of his soul, and while there was a lot about him that remained hidden, she knew enough to be worried. One key element she had learned was that the stoic front he presented to the world was often a façade hiding his true feelings. What she didn't know was how strong it was or how deep it ran.

With a soft sigh, she rubbed his shoulder before heading toward the bathroom. Her mood became more pensive as he muttered again in his sleep, an arm flailing under the sheets. Pausing in the doorway, she waited until he settled once more. The display heightened her fears; he normally slept as soundly as the dead.

Sara knew the stress was bothering him. He knew she was aware of it. Still, when she had asked how he was back in his office, Grissom had _…_ lied was too strong of a word. He could have shrugged off her question, or said that he didn't want to talk about it, but instead he told her he was okay when they both knew he wasn't. She had allowed him his denial; after all, work was the last place where he'd talk about his troubles, but now her doubts came to a head.

"Did I do the right thing?" she asked her reflection rhetorically, making a face before starting the water in the shower.

_He's private,_ she thought, chuckling softly at the understatement. _Okay, very private. But did I let that slide too easily?_

She didn't know what events shaped his personality, and that lack of information gnawed at her. It wasn't a desire to expose all his secrets, or to deny him his privacy, but to understand him better. For all her years as an investigator, aspects of Grissom eluded her ability to comprehend, his motivations appearing outwardly as capricious as a zephyr. They were trying to make a life together, and she didn't want to make any mistakes.

Stepping into the shower, she fretted that she'd made a huge mistake.

Over time, she'd caught glimpses of his self-doubts. An undercurrent of hesitancy ran through him when it came to personal matters, like he still doubted that she was interested in what he had to say. She recognized the feeling.

As a child, she craved the love of her parents, but experience taught her not to draw their attention to herself. Growing up in foster care, she rarely had a confidant, and quickly learned to identify the impatient looks when she tried to broach things that concerned her. It left an ingrained sense of introversion that she'd never completely shaken.

_Nurture or nature, he's the same way._

In the past, she'd offered subtle encouragement whenever she sensed that hesitancy, but she never pushed the issue. If he talked to her, it had to be because he wanted to share with her, not because she pressured him.

The problem was telling when he wanted that reassurance and when he wanted to be left alone. Jim's shooting was the most stressful thing they'd faced together, so she had nothing against which to gauge his mood.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her face into the spray of water, hoping to wash away her own tension. _I wish he trusted me enough to talk about this._

Immediately, she dismissed that idea as she grabbed the washcloth. It wasn't a matter of trust; it was Grissom being himself. A smile formed as she soaped over still-tingling areas. Even tonight, he didn't say that he loved her. The implication was clear, and he enthusiastically confirmed it, but he never actually said the words.

Sara valued her privacy as deeply as he did, and she better understood the pain of exposing wounds. He was never going to be a man who vocalized every emotion, and she didn't want him to change. She fell in love with a quiet, quirky scientist who kept his emotional side in check. The downside was that there were times when she had to rely on her judgment to figure out what was going on in his mind.

Even now, she was unable to pinpoint exactly when he decided to pursue the relationship. True, things changed after her DUI, but that only ended his active distance and brought out more of a protective side to him rather than an actual romantic interest.

His behavior changed again when she told him of her childhood, but in many ways that wasn't an improvement. He often acted uncomfortable, like he'd rather be at an emotionally safe distance, but he felt obligated to be there for her. Sara now knew why he kept away, and she also suspected he was embarrassed by his prior behavior at that point

In the immediate aftermath of Nick's kidnapping, he'd been a bit more open to everyone, joining the team on several consecutive days for breakfast and visiting Nick in the hospital. That change was short-lived, and Grissom retreated deeper into himself for nearly two weeks, seldom leaving his office. More than once, she caught him watching her as she worked, standing silently in a doorway for a long moment before entering to ask a question about her case.

After he returned to the field, he often teamed up with her. At first, he kept to himself, but he gradually began to subject her to his puns. On a few occasions he surprised her by bringing her a cup of tea or a slice of pie when he returned from the diner, but that was always when they were working on a tough case together and she skipped meals. It was a pleasant change, but she never considered it as anything other than returning to their old friendship.

Then there was the Gloersen case.

The landlord found the nude body of the recently murdered man when he came to collect the rent. Sara was dusting for prints, Brass was questioning the landlord, and Grissom and David were examining the victim.

"Dude!" the landlord said after the body was turned over. "The guy's hung smaller than a squirrel!"

"I do not want to know how you know that," Brass said in deadly seriousness, raising an eyebrow dramatically when he glanced at the corpse's nether regions.

"They say size doesn't matter," David said sympathetically, "but I wouldn't want to be him."

"Yeah, well, who would? He's dead," Grissom noted, sitting back on his haunches as he scanned the room. "He drove a Ferrari, wore expensive clothes and lots of jewelry, drank expensive liquor. Compensation, perhaps?"

"Ah, human nature," Brass added, flashing a grin towards Sara. She shook her head, feeling the running commentary on their victim's unfortunate anatomy to be a bit disrespectful.

"Not entirely human. Dung beetles with the most impressive horns actually have the smallest testicles," Grissom said, grimacing as he knees cracked when he stood. "Outward lures for mates don't necessarily imply the best equipped males for reproduction. Sometimes it's all show."

Sara was going to make a quip about people getting paid to study such things when Brass chuckled, saying, "This from the guy who drives the sports car."

She continued working while the others laughed, knowing Grissom didn't appreciate being the butt of jokes, but he still shot her a look. She cocked her head in confusion, unable to understand why he singled her out when she wasn't involved. He didn't say anything but returned to work with a brusque demeanor.

Later back in the lab, she was examining evidence under the microscope when she felt him standing behind her.

"I don't drive a sports car."

"Okay," she said distractedly, trying to identify some unusual fibers recovered from the scene.

"It's a classic car."

"Okay," she repeated, pausing in her work to turn towards him. For someone who was so impatient earlier, his current tangent was odd.

"There is a distinction."

Unable to hide her amusement, she grinned wickedly. "Are you worried that I think you're compensating?"

He left without another word.

Shaking her head, she returned to the microscope, but she froze in the process of adjusting the focus. There was only one reason why he'd single her out for an explanation, and it meant he was worried. Unless it was some sort of general male insecurity, the only reason he had to be worried was if he thought it was going to be an issue. The only way it could be an issue was if something developed between them.

Something physical.

"Oh, shit," she muttered under her breath.

Taking an early lunch, she sat in the break room chewing thoughtfully as she tried to make sense of the encounter. She couldn't think of another reason for his explanation, but it was too hard to accept. After years of a non-relationship, her mind just couldn't wrap itself around the idea that he was suddenly interested. Some other explanation existed, even if it eluded her. This was Grissom after all; there was no saying what motivated his outburst.

Greg and Warrick joined her in the break room, effectively ending her musing, but it left a nagging question in the back of her mind. If nothing else, she feared that she might have inadvertently insulted him. While she wasn't an expert on men, she knew enough to know that guys were generally sensitive in that regard. If she could have thought of a way to ask him about it that wouldn't have added to the discomfort, she would have.

When he didn't bring it up again, she dismissed the conversation, rolling her eyes at the silliness of her concerns. Mentally, she berated herself for her wishful thinking.

The next month she worked a case centered on a therapist sexually involved with his patients. She was waiting with Greg in Trace as Hodges finished with Grissom's samples. To kill the time, they talked about the ethics involved when Grissom surprised them by joining in the conversation.

"Ethics aside, it was a horrible idea."

"Why?" she asked. While she had her own opinions, she was genuinely curious on his take on the subject, and it was rare for him to volunteer personal outlooks.

"They were in therapy for a reason."

"That's usually the case," Greg added, grinning when Grissom turned to him shortly.

"These women all were trying to work through difficult problems. Not only did he violate their trust, they weren't in a position to be starting a relationship. Some underlying problem needed to be addressed before he added more complication to their lives."

"So, you think a person in therapy shouldn't get involved with anyone else," Sara said, leaning against the workbench. Recognizing the defensive posture, she kept her tone causal. "Someone in therapy is automatically fragile or something?"

"No," he said lowly, his eyes focusing on hers. "But there are times you have to keep your distance. No matter how much you want to help, you have to let that person come to grips with whatever is bothering them. There's the chance that you may not be what they need, and you'll end up impeding their progress. Or you may not be what that person wants when they've worked through their issues, and you'll be heartbroken. The number of things that can go wrong _…_ it's too dangerous."

He held her gaze for a long moment before gathering his report and exiting, leaving Hodges in mid-brag.

"Grissom's working that psychedelic mushroom case, right?" Greg asked.

"What?" she replied, feeling strangely off-balance from the conversation. "I think so. Why?"

"Ah. I think he's been tasting the evidence again. Just saying," Greg quipped. "That's probably the most I've ever heard him say at one time."

"Yeah." The conversation left her feeling odd. Forcing her attention back on Hodges's long-winded commentary, she refused to spend any time contemplating Grissom's opinions on relationships.

Alone in the locker room, she fiddled with packing her bag. On the surface, Grissom's statement had been general and impersonal, but it resonated within her. It wasn't so much what he said, but the way he held her eyes when he said it, like it held some sort of special meaning.

_He made it seem personal. Was he talking about me? Us? Oh, no way. _

She grabbed her bag and started to leave, but found herself putting her things away and stopping in front of his office. Classical music played softly in the background as he sat reading a form with a befuddled expression.

But what if he was interested?

If so, it needed to be addressed, but she wasn't willing to expose herself again. She'd put herself out there one too many times, but she had to know what he meant. Standing outside his office, she chewed her lip before knocking on his door and leaning against the frame.

"Hey," she said, smiling nervously as she wrapped her arms around her waist.

"Sara," he replied evenly. When she stood there shifting her weight, he stopped his paperwork, eventually leaning back in his chair. "Do you need something?" he asked, his confusion clear.

"I, uhm, I just wanted to let you know that if you ever want to tell me something, well, just, you know, tell me."

Grissom's eyebrow went up, and he watched her with a strange expression as he took off his glasses.

"I don't bite," she added quickly.

His eyebrow went up further, and he set his glasses on his desk. "Ooo-kay," he drew out slowly. Folding his hands on a stack of paperwork, he stared at her in mild puzzlement. "Anything else?"

"No. Bye." Heading back to the locker room, she resisted the urge to bang her head against the walls. Feeling like a fool for misinterpreting his comments, she gathered her things quickly and exited from a side door to avoid passing his office again, even though it meant a longer walk to her car.

The next day at work she kept to herself, still stung by embarrassment. She headed straight home to change for court where she was to testify against a man accused of killing his wife while in a drunken rage. It wasn't a case she wanted to relive, but the evidence was overwhelming, and she wanted him off the streets.

She calmly recited the facts, about the scars and old bone fractures attesting to years of abuse. The man squirmed in his chair, shooting her evil looks, but when she came to the evidence of sexual assault, he finally snapped. Screaming threats, he crossed half the distance to the witness stand before the bailiffs restrained him. Eventually order was restored, and she kept the quiver in her voice under control as she finished her testimony.

Once home, Sara took a long draw from the bottle of beer before kicking off her shoes and collapsing on her couch. Simply put, every aspect of that case sucked. The husband was a loser with an excuse for everything. His wife was also a drunk who reveled in causing trouble. They were constantly broke, resorting to assorted minor crimes to pay for their drug habit, and occasionally things like rent and food. She supposed it was only a matter of time before one of them ended up dead, but it was the images of their twin daughters that tormented her. Malnourished and battered, their eyes showed more suffering than any six-year-old should ever know.

For the countless time, Sara had wondered why she did this to herself. She never developed the callousness other CSIs had. Every case like this took a little out of her, leaving her wondering how long it would be until there was nothing left worth saving. Older memories pushed to the forefront of her mind, reminding her of why she picked this career, and she renewed her vow to continue for as long as possible.

When the knocking started, she briefly considered ignoring it. Missionaries and door-to-door salesmen had learned to avoid this floor long ago, and it was too late in the day for one of the guys to see if she wanted to go out for something to eat. Eventually curiosity won out, but Sara hesitated again when she looked through the peephole.

"Grissom," she said after opening the door, her calm voice betraying none of her questions at his unexpected arrival. He returned her greeting pleasantly, adding to her confusion, so she ran through a mental checklist: She hadn't decked the father in court, even after his threats. Her occasional drinking was restricted to home. She hadn't blown up the lab, kicked Ecklie or done anything else to jeopardize her career.

But this was Grissom; he didn't do social visits. Unable to resist the mystery, she smiled as she stepped aside. "Come in. Can I get you something?"

"No thanks."

She shrugged but waved him towards the couch as she took the seat. Her eyebrow climbed upward when he passed the neutral center of the couch and sat on the end closest to her chair.

"Something come up at the lab?" she asked.

"No."

Sipping her beer, she waited patiently. Unlike his previous visit to her apartment, he seemed calmer, but she still picked up on a sense of unease. _Of course he's uneasy. If this isn't work-related, it has to be personal. Yeah, right. It's work._

"So, what's up?"

Grissom's response was tight. "You testified at the Santo trial today."

_So that's why he's here. _Repressing a groan, she was suddenly very cognizant of the glass beer bottle in her hands. Not trusting her voice, she settled on a simple nod.

"I also heard he threatened you. The bailiffs had to restrain him."

"Yeah. He didn't get very far. No big deal," she insisted. She was tired, upset and really not in the mood to go over this with Grissom. All she wanted was to finish her beer, take a hot bath and try to get some rest.

"He cleared the table, broke his own attorney's nose, threatened to r…"

"I'm fine," she stated, a forced levity in her voice as she raised the bottle. "Do you want to run a blood-alcohol test?"

"No," he stated, tilting his head curiously when she started to laugh.

"If there was ever a sentence with an unspoken _but_, that was it," she explained. "I'll admit the case was rough, but I'm okay. Really."

"I know. You did a good job with this."

"Oh." Startled by his response, she gave her head a short shake. "No offense, but then why are you here? 'Cause you never come by to say hi or talk about a case. The only time you come here is when you're wondering if I'm going gonzo."

To her surprise, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. "Certain cases do bother you."

"I'm great."

Grissom shot her a mildly incredulous glare. "We all have our own triggers. No matter how long you work this field, there are still cases that stand out. This was one of them for you."

Pleasure over his consideration and aggravation that he thought it was necessary battled for Sara's attention. Unable to settle for one, she went with both emotions. "Thanks for checking up on me. I mean that. But it's not necessary. No breakdown scheduled for this week, and I'm not a drunk."

"I never thought you were."

"That _but_ is there again," she chuckled humorlessly, turning away from his intense gaze.

"It was a serious situation."

"Don't tell me about that," she snapped, holding out her hand as she calmed herself. "Don't. I'm not making excuses for what I did. I screwed up. No one knows that better than me. If I had hurt anyone…"

She stopped to gather her composure, not wanting to fall apart in front of him again, but her eyes snapped open when his hand covered hers.

"What happened that night?" he asked softly, slowly moving his thumb against her fingers.

She stared at their joined hands, her mouth open slightly as he kept up his ministrations. "Nothing."

"Which one of us are you trying to convince?"

Sara gave his hand a brief squeeze before pulling it free, rising to pace to her window. So he finally broached the subject. She always wondered if he would, or if it was to join the long list of topics they tiptoed around. After showing up at the station that night, he had driven her home, asked her if she needed anything and left when she shook her head. The next day he left a message to let her know that he'd scheduled her an appointment with a PEAP counselor. Besides asking her about the sessions a few times, he'd never mentioned the subject again.

_Why the interest now? God, did Brass talk to him? No, if he were going to say anything it would have been after I was picked up. I haven't screwed up at work, haven't lost my temper in ages. He has no reason to ask about it now, but here he is._

_  
This is Grissom. The guy eats bugs on his eggs. Who knows why he does anything?_

Turning around, she took a quick step back when she found him standing right there. His openly worried look added to her already considerable bewilderment.

"Grissom," she said, exhaling slowly. Giving him a sad look, she shrugged. "I admit it was a bad time for me. Things were, uh, bothering me. That was an even worse day, a bad case. We went out for some beers, _…_"

"We? Who else was there?"

The coolness of his tone underscored his ire, and she blinked at the unexpected display. She never considered that he'd blame the others for what happened that night, but there was an iciness in his eyes that was unsettling.

"It doesn't matter. I'm responsible for my own behavior." She stared him down until he gave another conceding nod.

"It's not like I was falling down drunk. You know the blood alcohol formulas. For someone my size, what's the difference between being under the limit and being just over it? One beer? Half a beer?"

He held her gaze, his expression indecipherable. Unable to face the intensity, she dropped her head and sighed. "Trust me, I'm not rationalizing what happened. I know what I did, and it was stupid. But it was a mistake. Not a lifestyle. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Oh, God," she moaned.

"But," he started.

"I so knew that was coming."

He surprised her again with a soft laugh. "The next time_…_"

"There won't be a next time." She sank into the couch, her eyes darting to the side when he sat beside her. His acceptance sounded real, but she considered that he was just letting the matter drop. For now. She had the sinking feeling he never forgot anything – if it had the potential to come back and bite her in the ass. "I drank on an empty stomach. I'd have been fine if I had eaten something."

Mentally willing him to drop the subject, she didn't relax until he shrugged. The atmosphere remained tense until he gave her a lopsided smirk.

"Funny you should mention food," he said, fumbling in his jacket pocket for a moment. Pulling out a folded up piece of paper, he passed it to her. "The incident in court was a diversion. This is the real reason I came over. I got that in the mail."

Instantly curious, Sara set down her beer bottle, unfolded the flyer and frowned. "A vegetarian restaurant?"

"It opened near my house. For some reason, vegetarian brought your name to mind. I thought you might like it."

"Thanks," she said, giving him a quick grin before looking over the menu. The little gesture touched her, but it also left her cautious. It was an unexpected thing for him to do.

_He's being nice, _she told herself, glad that their friendship was back on track

_If he's just being friendly, then why didn't he give it to me at work?_

She paused in opening the flyer, staring at it silently.

_Don't read anything into it. Grissom, remember? He does things differently. _

"The menu's broken down into type of vegetarianism," he said enthusiastically. "The first page includes dishes with dairy and eggs. The next section only has dairy, followed by only eggs. The last page is all vegan."

"That makes it easy," she said, glancing sideways at him.

"They don't have any fish dishes; guess they ran out of room, but I was surprised at the variety they offer. The lentil loaf doesn't sound promising, but that three-cheese and mushroom omelet sounds really good. With bread and the salad, it's a full meal."

"So, you do have an interest in mushrooms."

"I guess so," he said, his lips pursing at her grin.

"Greg thought you did." She resisted the urge to laugh when she watched him try to process her statement, seeing him finally shrug. "You'd eat at a vegetarian restaurant?" she asked jokingly, starting to unwind with the lighter mood.

"It depends on the company," he said, giving her what she thought was a hopeful look.

She hated how eagerly she wished it were true. Every time she thought she'd moved on, something happened that revived her baseless hopes. Sara forced her eyes towards the coffee table, picking up and draining the last of her beer. Heading into the kitchen, she opened the fridge and stared inside while she fought for control.

_He did not just say that. Okay, he did, but it doesn't mean anything. It's one of those lines he likes to pull. Picked a hell of day to start again. _She let out a ragged breath. _This is Grissom. It's his idea of being nice. Just humor him. He'll go home soon and I can crash._

"Sure you don't want something?" she asked, stalling for time.

"I'm fine."

Grabbing a bottle of water, she fiddled with the cap as she debated her next move. As much as she cared for him, she didn't want to set herself up to get hurt again. It had taken this long for him to feel comfortable enough to show her a menu to a place he thought she'd like. _I already screwed things up between us once. I'm not making that mistake twice. Take it for what it is – a peace offering._

Sara smiled as she walked back towards the couch, making it halfway before he said, "We're both off tonight."

She spun around quickly, once again taking refuge in the kitchen. She couldn't believe how much she wanted to believe he was finally making a move. It had taken time, but she'd finally come to terms with the fact that he was never going to act on his feelings.

_And you think he's the one in denial. You're hiding in your own home!_

"This is insane," she muttered to herself, indicating both of their behaviors.

"Is everything all right?"

She marched back to the living room, finding him leaning forward on the sofa. She started to say everything was fine, but she knew there was no way she could pull off that lie.

"No."

Grissom winced slightly, but she watched as he gathered his composure. "Is this a bad time? Should I leave? You're probably upset over what happened in court."

"No," she answered somewhat truthfully. Despite her own unease, she pressed forward. She didn't want to jump to any conclusions. The last time that happened it took years for the consequences to go away. "I'd really like to know what's going on."

"I want to know if you'd like to have dinner with me."

Her mouth dropped open, and it was a moment before she spoke. "You have to be shitting me."

"No."

It was his small smile that truly aggravated her. "Now?"

"It's a little early," Grissom said frivolously, stopping at her frustrated growl. "Unless that's your stomach."

Sara stood there, crossing her arms over her midsection and staring at him disbelievingly. She only had one beer, wasn't on any drugs, and as far as she knew, she didn't have a concussion. That made the odds of the conversation being a hallucination pretty slim, but his overly casual manner seemed surreal.

Maybe he was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn't working. Memories of a rumor at the lab made her cock her head. "Is this dinner between two colleagues?"

"Technically, that is one way it could be classified."

Again, his playful tone rubbed her the wrong way. This wasn't a laughing matter. He knew how she felt about him. If this was a joke, it was cruel.

_No. He can be a jerk, but he's not cruel. Not usually; not lately. I can't believe he'd toy with me. Not now. So what's going on?_

"Screw technical. How would you classify it?" she asked.

He held her gaze, swallowing slightly before continuing. "I'd like it to be a date, but I'd settle for dinner between two old friends."

Looking over her shoulder, she quickly rejected another retreat into the kitchen. Instead, she dropped down on the couch and stared at her fingers as they worked along a seam in the leather.

"It doesn't have to be tonight," Grissom offered when she didn't speak.

"Why? And no smart ass comments about my mood."

His expression softened, and again he took her hand in his. She didn't resist, but she also didn't relent. "What part don't you understand?" he asked earnestly. "Why I'd want to have dinner with you?"

"Why now? You weren't interested before."

"That's not true."

She turned to him with a scathing glare that actually made him shift uncomfortably.

"It was physically impossible for you to have picked a worse day to ask me out. I guess I didn't explain it at the time," he offered.

"You think?"

He ignored the sarcastic look she gave him, but he did take a long break before continuing. "The timing wasn't right."

Chewing the inside of her lip, she considered his statement carefully. After a beat, she gave her head a slight nod. "Okay. Okay, I can buy that I asked you at a bad time. But that was years ago. The timing hasn't been right since then?"

"No."

Her eyebrows shot up quickly. "Not a single day?"

"You had other things on your mind. You didn't need the distraction while you worked through things," he said with an amazing amount of tact.

Sara fixed him with a sharp glare. Maybe he was right about that, but he was also conveniently ignoring his frosty behavior prior to her _…_ situation. "Honestly, I think a distraction would have helped a hell of a lot."

"It wouldn't have been advisable," he said in a tone that seemed to confirm her suspicions. His comments in the lab had been personal. Or not; it was so hard to get a handle on him, and his relying on implication rather than direct conversation wasn't making her feel more secure. Any chance they had to make this work required communication, and she wasn't sure what he meant when he did talk. That couldn't be a positive sign.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," she finally replied. "I like you. I do. That's never changed. It's, " Sara paused, turning to stare towards her window. How could she explain it to him when she wasn't sure how to explain it to herself?

_What do I tell him? 'Hey, I love you so much it scares me.' That I've jumped through hoops for him, and I'm afraid he'll keep me jumping through them? That if things don't work out, I don't know how long I'd stay just to spare his feelings? Yeah, he'd love to hear that. _

"What is it? I'm interested. And you're still interested," he said hesitantly.

"I don't think that's enough."

Grissom stared at her, his head tilting as if trying to understand what she was saying. "What else do you need?"

Despite her own unease, his reaction touched her. He'd taken her hand again, apparently unaware of the sweat on his palms. For someone uncomfortable with personal interactions, he was making an effort. "Not much, really. I, uh, I'm not as needy as I probably seem."

"I never thought that."

His half-offended tone almost amused her. Almost. The basic facts were still the same. "It's, damn. This isn't right. You decided when the time was wrong for you. Fine, but you decided when it was wrong _for me._"

He averted his eyes, and she saw his shoulders tensing. "I was trying to be considerate," he said sorrowfully.

The emotional honesty was touching, especially from him. She knew of his qualms, that he worried she'd leave him, but if her near-breakdown had one definitive result, it was leaving Sara questioning her ability to deal with emotional setbacks.

"That's, that's sweet. It is. But you're acting exactly like my dad. Everything was his decision."

Immediately, she regretted her words as Grissom flinched. "No," she said quickly. "If I thought this was anything like my parents, you'd have never made it through the front door."

He sat there, his mouth opening but he was unable to form a response, leaving her wondering if she sounded convincing. If there was one thing that she knew for certain, it was that he'd never physically injure her. But he had hurt her in other ways, and invisible wounds ached just as deeply. Worse, she didn't know what motivated his behavior before, so she had no way of knowing if he'd revert back. The uncertainty was too much for her.

"I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to go through another mess like before. What happened then, I don't blame you," she said reassuringly. "Don't ever get that idea, but it's just, well, I think if we learned anything from my 'incident', it's that I'm not as strong as I thought I was."

"You're stronger than you think you are," he countered firmly.

That brought a sad smile to her lips, but she shrugged wryly. "Let's face it. I have issues. I don't think I can be in a, a, whatever this is if I don't have any say in it."

"The way I see it, you do," he said as if it was obvious.

"Explain it to me, 'cause I don't get it."

"If you want to give this a try, say so. If you want more time, that's your choice. If you never want me to bring this up again, I'll leave."

Sara pulled her hand free and walked to the window, resting against the frame as she thought over his words. It was so easy for him to act so nonchalant. Her eyes opened widely at the realization, and she stood up straight. He _was_ acting.

If in some remote monastery, there was a Zen master of emotional control, Grissom was his role model. But asking her out to dinner had him disconcerted, and he had to pretend to be calm.

_He's this worked up, and I haven't even done anything to him yet._

Sara shook her head after stumbling over the double and triple entendres in that thought. Staring outside, she tried to grasp the implications. She knew he cared. His conversation with Lurie settled any questions she had about that. But he'd also made it clear that he wasn't ready to take that risk.

_But he's here now. Something's changed. He's still nervous, though. I can hear him breathing back there. I wonder what worries him more – that I'll agree or turn him down. There's going to be consequences no matter what I say. He knows that, but he's here._

This was a major step for him. Not just career wise – he feared she'd reject or leave him, but he was willing to risk that pain. The question was whether she was willing to take the chance.

_What's the alternative? Never knowing if it would have worked? Always second-guessing my decision – that's not what I want. But I don't want to get burned again. Damn. No matter what I decide there's a risk. _

_Isn't that what life's all about?_

"I, I don't know what to say, Griss."

"Personally, I'd recommend yes. But I might be biased."

"Possibly," she agreed calmly.

"I'm not asking you to marry me and run away to Tahiti to have a dozen children," he said, his nervousness starting to show. "Let me take you out to dinner."

She watched him silently, trying to decipher his motives. He'd been so adamant that the risk was too high, and that obstacle hadn't gone away. "What about the fact you're my supervisor?"

"I think that makes it all the more appropriate."

Sara blinked. "Huh?"

"You came to Vegas at my request. You were new to the town. A good boss would have taken you out to dinner and shown you around."

"I already know my way around town."

"After five years, I'd hope so," he deadpanned, but his smile was forced. "I owe you this much at least."

"You know, obligation isn't exactly a romantic persuasion technique." She dropped her shoulders when he developed a facial tic. "Just dinner – no expectations?"

He took a long time to answer, but he nodded vigorously before stopping suddenly. "I mean, no. No expectations. Dinner, that's all."

Sara watched him carefully as she considered the offer. She'd turned her entire world upside down to be with him. But they had gone through rough patches, and while she accepted her share of blame for it, she couldn't ignore that Grissom's behavior toward her bordered on cruel more than once.

But he'd been there when her personal life and career were in shambles, when he had legitimate reasons to get rid of her. He didn't, even risking his own job standing up to Ecklie and jeopardizing his long friendship with Catherine to protect her. That had to count for something.

Oh, hell. I left San Francisco without giving two weeks notice. I may as well get a dinner for screwing up my references.

"Okay," she huffed out.

For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her as he jumped off the sofa, but he kept a polite distance as they finalized their plans. After escorting him out, she leaned against the door.

"What have I gotten myself into?" she had sighed before heading for a restless nap.

Sara was ready when Grissom came to pick her up that evening, following his recommendation to dress casually. Although he acted restrained, his eyes ran down her body appreciatively. The action brought an unexpected flush to her cheeks, a response that didn't go unnoticed. She cleared her throat, causing him to bob his head and stop his inspection.

Resting his hand possessively on the small of her back, he escorted her to his car with a pleased expression. Sara stole occasional glances at him, half-smirking at his reaction. His attention was flattering, but she didn't want him to get his hopes up; they'd been dancing around each other for years, and she wasn't going to rush into anything.

Driving through the city, she took the time to study his profile. At traffic stops, he'd dart his eyes to the side, never commenting but his hands flexed around the steering wheel. Grissom was openly anxious, and her presence caused it.

Overhearing his talk with Lurie had hurt; he readily told a cold-blooded killer about the feelings that he hid from her. But thinking back on what he said, she realized how much power she had. That he feared she'd grow bored, move on, leave him, break his heart. She had the ability to shatter him. By pursuing this, he faced his fears; how he weathered it depended entirely on how she responded.

The knowledge was intoxicating. For most of her youth, she never felt in control of her own life, let alone ever having any domination over another. But she had no interest in domination – she wanted an equal partnership. That meant an active participation from him, a sharing that she wasn't yet sure he was capable of.

"The restaurant is just a few miles ahead," Grissom said eventually, darting his eyes to her again. "It won't be long until we're there."

"It's okay. I don't mind the ride. Nice car. I hear it's a classic," she said with a wicked grin. It morphed into a friendly smile when he snapped his head around. Taking pity on him, she chatted casually for the rest of the drive. She nodded her approval at the few cars in the restaurant's parking lot, certain they'd have plenty of privacy.

Grissom raised an eyebrow at Sara's amused look as the waiter showed them to a cushion-strewn bench, leaving a veritable wake of sandalwood when he left to bring their drinks.

"Not too many places use a tie-dye color scheme on their flyers, or name their dishes after sixties rock bands. This doesn't come as a surprise," he said, holding out his hands to indicate the beaded dividers between the tables and the black lights shining on velvet posters. He examined the room more carefully, his head turning as he scanned the immediate area around them. "Does it remind you of San Francisco?"

She mimicked his action, finally shaking her head and chuckling. "I don't think I ever saw anything this over-the-top there."

They exchanged a fleeting smile and settled into silence again. After a few minutes, the waiter took their orders, and Grissom turned to her with a thoughtful expression when they were alone. "Do you know what the trouble is living in the desert?"

She tilted her head before answering wistfully. "No rain?"

"Rain messes up crime scenes," he pointed out with a curious tone of voice. "Why would you miss it?"

"I like to listen to it. Always have. I never realized how much until I moved out here," she said, pausing thoughtfully. "Of course, it seems to rain an awful lot for a desert, especially when we have a big crime scene."

"That's true."

"So," Sara said, twisting her napkin distractedly under the table. "What is wrong with living in the desert?"

"You lose one of the great opening lines for conversation. 'How's the weather?' doesn't work too well here. There's not enough variety."

"Do you think you need a line with me?" Her voice was soft, but the question conveyed a sense of sadness.

Grissom ran a finger along the rim of his glass before shrugging noncommittally. "It's an easy transition into a safe conversation. I already know what you do for a living. I know where you went to school. I know why you moved to Vegas. And I don't think this is the right time for more questions about your family."

"Not really," she agreed. Leaning back in her chair, she decided to take a gamble. "You could tell me about yourself."

"There's not much to tell."

"Come on. You're a prominent criminalist and forensic entomologist. I don't think I know anyone else as well-read as you are," she said gently.

His response was slow in coming. "You already know all that. I'm not that interesting of a person."

"I think you are."

His facial muscles received a thorough workout as various emotions played over his features. After taking a sip of water, he changed the subject. "Do you really miss the rain?"

Sara nodded, remembering the relaxing sound of water on the garage roof. There had been a loft there, too small to be of much practical use, but the perfect spot to hide when storms threatened inside the house. "Yeah."

"Why have you stayed?"

She didn't answer at first, unsure of the answer herself. Despite her friends, Vegas never really felt like home, and while her personal life had never been great, it certainly had been better in San Francisco. Well, adequate at least. She didn't want to admit that she'd hung around for a chance to work things out. It sounded too desperate.

But there was some truth to it; at some level she recognized that they had the potential to have a wonderful relationship – if they could make it work.

"I'm not sure," she said honestly, softening her response with a toothy grin. "It's a pain in the ass to pack?"

She waited silently as he weighed her words, glad when he quietly dropped the subject. Instead, he quizzed her on her dinner order, wanting to know what attracted her to that particular dish, and then asking if she'd like certain variations.

"I don't know about that," she answered at one suggestion. "It's something I'd have to try first."

"Fair enough."

"What, you're going to cook it?"

"I will if it's something you'd want to try," he said.

"Griss, I," she sighed. "No strings, remember. I meant it. Let's, let's just enjoy this for what it is, okay?"

He nodded but remained silent, and Sara wondered if he had run out of 'safe' conversation topics. Nibbling on a piece of flatbread, she tried to reconcile the confident criminalist with the shy man sitting opposite of her.

I can't believe I make him this uncomfortable. He's out of his element. This is one situation where he doesn't know what to do. Did someone hurt him, or is he just that socially unskilled?

When he glanced at her, she smiled kindly. She debated asking him something about himself, but he'd already deflected that. Instead, she settled on turning the tables on him, asking him about his dinner choice. Keeping her voice light, she gradually got Grissom to relax, and she laughed after he told her of mistaking a piece of hot pepper for candy when he was five.

"It was bright red," he noted with a mock-scowl.

"Aren't bright colors usually a warning sign in nature?" she teased back.

"I didn't know it then." He paused to sip some water, taking a deep breath as he set his glass down. "I'm glad you decided to come."

"I didn't have an escape plan. You're lucky I'm already maxed out on overtime," she said jokingly. Her mood switched to surprise when a brief guilty look crossed his face, and she realized how thoroughly he'd planned this.

It was a given that she'd max out on her hours, so he tended to modify the schedule to account for the fact she wouldn't be able to work overtime by the end of the month. Usually that meant he limited his extra shifts early on so he'd be free once she reached her limit. But thinking back on it, she realized he hadn't done that in the last few months. They both were maxed out; there'd be no calls from the office for either of them.

"Yeah, real lucky," Sara said, raising her eyebrow pointedly.

Grissom's shrug was nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed his self-satisfaction. He sat back as the waiter approached with their food. Sara smiled once more, and this time he returned it.

"How's your meal?" he asked, tentatively testing the conversation waters again.

"Nice. The tofu is good."

"I had it once," he said, visibly relaxing as he dug into his omelet. "It's like brains."

"Brains?" she repeated, staring at the quivering mass on the end of her fork. Setting it down, she shot him an incredulous look. "You're telling me one of my vegetarian staples is like brains."

"In texture," he said, nodding his head as he reached for another piece of bread.

"Animal brains?"

Grissom finally registered his gaffe. "Not in taste," he added with a weak, apologetic smile. "I'm sure the tofu is healthier."

"Not too many people get BSE from tofu," she mumbled softly, shifting the suspect curds on her plate. "You really ate brains?"

"Not lately. In some parts of the world, it's considered a delicacy. When I was in the rainforest," he said, pausing when she shook her head.

"That's okay. I really don't need to know what type of brains you ate." She gave him an amused look to let him know she wasn't upset.

"I'm curious," he offered in explanation.

"You certainly are." Sara watched as he sat back and considered her statement, silently accepting the entendre with a shrug. Picking up her tea, she took a drink as she watched him. "Is there anything you won't taste?"

"Do you have something in particular in mind?"

She felt the blush climbing up her cheeks, and gave him a warning look as she set her glass down. "Just dinner."

"I know. What were you thinking of?"

It was Sara's turn to be speechless as he watched her with an innocent expression. Swearing she saw a twinkle in his eye before he shifted his attention back to the plate, she smirked. "Raw earthworms."

His eyes lifted upward mischievously. "They're not too bad. Grubs make better grub, though."

"You need to get on Fear Factor," she chuckled.

"What's that?"

"TV show. They like to challenge people to eat weird stuff like that, get in containers with lots of bugs."

Grissom set down his fork and cocked his head. "So, what's the fear factor?"

Giving him a shrug, she grinned broadly and steeled herself to resume her meal. Despite his unfortunate comparison of tofu to brains, she found the dinner going better than she thought it would. She'd forgotten his quirky sense of humor, and she didn't realize how much she had missed it.

"This is nice," she told him, her heart melting at his unrestrained look of relief.

After they finished, Grissom paid the bill and escorted Sara to this car. She had to take a quick step back when he suddenly paused in opening the door, swinging his head to look up and down the road.

"Are you in a hurry to get home?" he asked.

"No," she said, frowning as his tongue peeked between his lips. She waited silently as he drove in the opposite direction from Vegas, turning onto consecutively smaller back roads until he reached the crest of a hill.

"Wow," Sara said when he led her around a large rock outcropping. Light from the full moon shone down into the small valley below, reflective minerals in the loose gravel turning the ground into a sparkling sea. "This is beautiful."

Wrapping her arms around herself in the chill wind, she started when his jacket draped over her. Looking back, she didn't object when he left his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Standing quietly, he gazed into the valley below. He was close enough to be personal, but not so close for her to be uncomfortable.

I've never heard of this place before. I wonder how he found it. Probably was a crime scene. The ground is rough around here, but he knew his way around in the dark. He must come here sometimes. But he's never mentioned this, even when the others were talking about places to go hiking or climbing. Did he bring me here to share this with me?

Either that, or there's some weird, nocturnal bug that lives here, and he wants to catch one while we're in the area.

You know what's sad? I was joking, but that might really be why we're here.

How can I love someone so much when I don't know him? What is going on in that mind of yours? Only one way to find out.

He dropped his arms as she turned around, but she was glad he didn't back away. "Griss, why are we here?"

"Viewing the scenery," he responded slowly, pointing to his left. Grabbing her elbow, he led her to a long, flattish rock, helping her up to the high seat.

"I wasn't joking earlier when I said to just talk to me," she said after a long silence.

He turned to give her a pensive stare, his hand scratching at his beard. "I have been."

She started to quip that he needed to do it in a language she understood, but she held back. At some level, she sensed they were at a crossroads; he was making tentative outreaches, but a wrong word would send him retreating. There was no question in her mind that this was a one-time venture. If she turned him down, he'd never broach the subject again.

"I guess I don't always understand you," she said softly.

He made a face that indicated the response wasn't unexpected and rested his head in his hands as he stared into the desert.

"Why are you hesitant now?" he finally asked.

"I don't know if this can work between us."

"Why not?"

"We have a history. And it wasn't always good," she said. "I don't want to rehash old problems. It won't solve anything, just drag up bad memories. But I can't ignore that they existed."

"And ignoring these 'problems' is a better strategy?"

He did not just go there. He's treating this like it's something trivial. I'm not blaming him, but there's no way he can pretend that we didn't have problems.

_Unless he's really that clueless when it comes to relationships._

"I'm a fan of Einstein," she said, glancing sideways to eye him. "'People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.'"

"I don't get it."

"Grissom, I'm not asking for an explanation or an apology, but please tell me you realize that there were times you treated me like shit. You cannot be that unaware."

Unable to hold her gaze, he returned to staring over the landscape.

"I know I'm not a saint. I accept that I created a lot of that mess. But there's no way I can forgive, or forget, what you did if you don't know it was wrong," she said earnestly.

"'No man is rich enough to buy back his past.'"

"I really doubt that Oscar Wilde is the right guy to be quoting now."

Grissom shrugged. "It fit the occasion."

She let out a ragged breath, shaking her head as she turned away from him. She was serious; he didn't have to apologize, just recognize it was wrong. If he knew that, then there she'd be able to believe that he'd never repeat his behavior. She needed that reassurance.

When he hopped down from their perch, she followed suit, figuring he was ready to leave. Accepting that he wasn't willing or able to make that concession, she forced herself to remain calm. It wasn't his fault; she needed more than he could provide.

Instead of leaving, he stepped closer and put his hands on the rock on either side of her head.

"Does it matter if I quoted someone?" he asked hoarsely. "Is there anything I could say that would take away your anger?"

"I told you don't have to apologize," she said. "Just tell me that it wouldn't happen in the future. Tell me I can trust you not to hurt me. Can you do that?"

Her hand started to reach up wipe at her eyes, but he was faster. Moving with a tenderness that stirred her, he used his thumb to brush away the stray tears. "So soft," he whispered as his fingers moved into her hair. When she didn't object, he captured her mouth in a series of kisses.

For a long time, they stood there, Grissom resting his forehead against hers. He softly caressed her face and neck, moving like a man who hardly dared to believe she allowed his touches. Another wind had buffeted them, and he finally pulled back.

"It's getting cold. Let me take you home," he had told her. They had barely spent a day apart since then.

"He never did answer me," Sara muttered softly to herself as she finished drying her hair. As she brushed out a few persistent tangles, she smiled at the memories since that night. He might never have answered her vocally, but he'd never once as much as raised his voice to her. Even at work, any critiques on her work were offered as suggestions rather than criticisms.

_But that's his way. He's more likely to tell me through his actions than with a direct response._

_So what does that mean now? He says he's okay, but he is so tense. That much stress can't be healthy. Maybe I can talk him into taking a few days off once things settle down some. He mentioned something about a new roller coaster. Damn, where was it? I'll research it tomorrow. The rest will do him good._

Turning off the bathroom light, she headed towards her bed. Sliding under the covers, she was surprised when Grissom wrapped himself around her.

"Hey," she said softly. "You should be asleep."

"You weren't here," he murmured groggily.

"I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."

"Uh, huh."

"Go back to sleep. You need to rest," she whispered.

"I'm okay," he mumbled between yawns, quickly falling back to sleep.

Too worried to sleep, Sara shifted slightly so she held him close to her, stroking his face with her fingers. He'd never allow her to comfort him so directly if he was awake, but the action helped to calm her. Laying in the dark, she listened to his breathing, gradually starting to drift off herself when he became restless again. Letting out a sad sigh, she kissed his ruffled mop of curls.

"You wouldn't tell me if something was wrong, would you?"

**A/N II**: The tofu-brains conversation is loosely based on a cut scene from Season Six that someone in the know was kind enough to share with me.

31


	2. Chapter 2

**Ever After****  
Summary: **Life isn't a fairy tale, and happily isn't guaranteed.**  
A/N:** Lost – one Niff. Vaguely mythological in appearance. Responds to chocolate and risotto, though not in the same dish. If found, please let her know her story is up and give her some chocolate Zingers. 

Sorry for the delay in getting this out; there was a death in the family that screwed up my schedule. Big thanks to Gibby and mystery for looking this over. Feel free to give them chocolate, too.

**Disclaimer: **Does anyone even read these things? If you're an attorney for CBS, I don't even pretend to own the rights, but you might want to look into a better job.

* * *

**Part II **

If anyone had ever told Sara that she would leave unfinished work at the lab to go home and do something domestic, she'd have laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion. The fact that she now did so nearly every week made her roll her eyes as she pulled in front of Grissom's townhouse. For someone so totally unique, he had a fondness for tradition, and Sunday dinner had become theirs.

Whenever their schedules allowed, Sunday meant a day spent at home working together to fix a fancy meal. As much as she appreciated good food and being with him, she was perfectly willing to order out, freeing up time for more enjoyable activities. But the actual preparation of the dinner seemed an essential part of the experience for him, so she endured the chore. Besides, it was a small price to pay to make him happy, especially considering how little he asked of her.

A wry smile formed as she spied him walking toward his door with an armload of grocery bags. He hadn't settled on what dish was "their" Sunday dinner yet, but she knew the bags were full of foods she liked. He'd even given up his own childhood favorite of pot roast, despite her insistence that she didn't expect him to stop eating meat.

I told him I don't care if he eats pot roast as long as there are side dishes I can eat. He doesn't have to give up things he likes to make me happy, but he has. I don't even remember the last time he ate meat in front of me. I know he grabs sandwiches at work sometimes, but he'll eat those alone in his office. I've walked in on him when he's been eating one, and he looked guilty. Guess he's worried about offending me.

_He tries so hard. Maybe too hard. I hope he's still not afraid that I'm going to give up on him. I've told him I'm not, but something made him so insecure. Whatever it was, it's probably going to take him some time to get over it. Well, I don't mind telling him. _

_Or showing him._

_Wonder if I can tempt him into ordering pizza today?_

"Hey," she exhaled as she dashed passed him to open the door. Turning around to help with the bags, her remaining ire at leaving work faded at his happy look. Her evidence wasn't going anywhere, and she had plenty of time left to max out on overtime.

Once in the privacy of his townhouse, he greeted her with a kiss, awkwardly hugging her around the bags. Running her free hand over his chest and around his neck, she surreptitiously checked for any telltale signs of stress. Stepping back, she gave him a relieved smile. She hadn't felt any obvious tension, and he seemed more relaxed. They'd had little chance to be together in the past few days, and she was still worried about how Jim's shooting affected him.

Sara began unpacking the bags and tried to find a way to broach the subject while he started a pot of coffee. Asking him directly wasn't really an option; Grissom would insist he was fine. She didn't want to confront him, but there were bags under his eyes. He hadn't slept well since the shooting, implying it bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

That's just it. He may not admit it to me, but that doesn't mean he's not aware of it. Look at what he's shared. The things he wants to do after he retires, opinions on professional stuff, what he likes, some of his childhood stories, but nothing really about what he fears.

He's never said anything about it, but I bet he thought he had to be 'the man of the house' after his father died. It's not easy having to act like the adult when you're still a kid. He's probably always overcompensated that way, never letting on that something was too hard for him. Nothing that he'd consider a sign of weakness.

If that's the case, he may never feel comfortable sharing something like that with me. I can tell him that he can talk to me, but it's too ingrained into who he is. I guess if he's survived this long, he's okay with it. Doesn't mean I'm not going to be worried.

"Did you get a chance to see Brass this morning?" she eventually asked.

"Uh, huh."

"Was he okay?"

"Uh, huh."

Sara leaned against the fridge as she watched him. He usually didn't resort to grunts unless he was distracted. "I'm sure he was glad to see you."

"Hmm."

"I'm sure you floored him with your witty repartee."

Grissom finally peered at her over the top of his glasses. "Actually, he seemed more interested in knowing when you were coming to see him again."

"That's because I bring him real food. No need to get jealous," she teased, grinning when he gave her a mock-scowl.

"He's not my type."

She paused in taking the salad fixings to the sink. The conversation was diverging from where she wanted it to go, but her curiosity was piqued. "What exactly is your type?"

"You," he answered with a simplicity too honest to be affected. Taking out some pans, he quietly put on water to boil and then started making a tomato sauce.

"Stuffed shells? I know a place that makes great ones and delivers," she started hopefully, shrugging her shoulders when he stared at her.

Guess I should be glad that he doesn't insist on making the pasta from scratch or growing the tomatoes for the sauce. It's only one day a week at most. Like my counselor said, there'll always be another case, so make time for other things. Besides, he likes it.

He likes other things, too.

"Or we can spend our day off in the kitchen," she said, her tone carrying a suggestion that they spend the time in another room. Grissom just nodded.

Recognizing that something was on his mind, she gave her head a shake and returned to the bags. His powers of concentration were amazing, and it was a losing battle trying to have a conversation when it was focused on something else. She learned that the day she came over and found him fascinated by a new tarantula. Sitting with it walking over his hands, he'd absentmindedly answered her questions. Oblivious to her numerous hints, it had taken him a full five minutes to realize she was standing naked beside him. Once he had realized, though, he'd only taken the time to put the spider in a cage because she insisted on it.

"I don't want to be wondering who's feeling me up," she had told him, and his bemused expression had been adorable.

Already smiling from the memory, it widened as she pulled a container of moisturizer out of the last bag. The bottle she kept in his bathroom was nearly empty, but she never said a word to him about it. She didn't have to. When not distracted, she was the center of his considerable observational skills, and he went out of his way to please her.

At first it surprised her to find some item she liked in his home, but it was now a common occurrence, whether it was a favorite snack or the scented bath salts that she thought were a secret luxury. His bath towels were still a generic white, but he'd replaced them with a high-quality Egyptian cotton after she spent time examining some in a catalogue.

_I never did figure out how he knew what I was looking at. Or even what page. He was watching a poker game the entire time. Or so I thought. Maybe I'm lucky he didn't order the leopard print toilet seat that was on the opposite page._

I have to give him credit – he plays to his strengths. He knows so much about me, and he's hardly had to ask a question. Griss may not be a Casanova, but he cares and this is his way of telling me.

"Thanks," she said, nudging her way between him and the counter to kiss him softly. Seeing his pleased – albeit befuddled – look, she held up the bottle and caressed his cheek. "You're something special, you know that?"

She glowed under his open look of satisfaction. He was deeply touched by her thanking him for such a small favor, and that knowledge moved her. Walking to the bathroom to put the moisturizer away, she felt his gaze following her, and she smiled when he eyed her when she returned. The amount of pleasure he derived from her presence still astounded Sara; no one in her life had ever been so content just to be around her.

For someone who spent much of her life wanting affection, wanting to be acknowledged, the realization was a rush.

While he often kept hidden within himself, he made no secret of the way he adored her. Whether sitting on the couch or in their wildest lovemaking, he treated her with absolute respect. He went out of his way to solicit her opinions both at work and home, always carefully considering what she had to offer. There was no question that making her happy was his first priority. All it took was a hint that she was dissatisfied for him to stop whatever he was doing. His categorical devotion was never in question.

He'd placed her firmly in control of their relationship, essentially putting his fate in her hands. She rewarded his trust by never abusing that power. The temptation to tweak him was occasionally too strong to ignore, but she always made sure he understood she was teasing. In turn, her playful affection thrilled him, strengthening his resolve to make her happy.

Grissom wasn't calculating enough to think up a pretense to put her at ease; his behavior was a genuine indicator of how he felt. The end result left her more secure than she had ever imagined possible.

For all the Sturm und Drang in their past, they had easily settled into a comfortable liaison. They hadn't said a word to each other in nearly a half an hour, but there was none of the awkwardness such a silence would have created in the early days of their relationship. Simply being with one another was enough.

After washing the salad vegetables, she set them aside to dry and smiled as Grissom drained the partially-cooked shells. In all the years she'd known him, she couldn't recall him eating pasta before they hooked up. She suspected he did so now because it offered so many vegetarians options.

"Want the last cup?" Sara asked when he started on the cheese filling, indicating the dregs in the bottom of the coffee pot.

"No, thanks. I do want to get some sleep when we get to bed," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Just some?"

"The ravages of time haven't hit that hard. I think I can stay up for a while."

Chuckling, she washed out their mugs and the pot before starting on the salad. He joked lightly as they worked, and she concluded that he'd resolved whatever had been on his mind earlier. Deciding it was time to suggest that he take a vacation, she tore the greens fretfully. It had the potential to be a touchy subject.

Early on, he had asked her to move into his home. She'd turned down his offer, pointing out that they couldn't hide that development from work. When he listed various ways to avoid that, she finally told him that she didn't think it was a good idea, at least not at that point.

He had been less than pleased.

Sara loved being with him, but she didn't _need _to be with him all the time. Being a couple was enough for her. It had been difficult enough for him to pursue her, and she was going to do anything possible to make the transition easier for him.

The truth was she knew he was a nearly fifty-year-old man who spent most of that time alone. Grissom had grown accustomed to his solitude. He'd set up everything around him to reflect his tastes, and she didn't want him to be uncomfortable having someone around him all the time. She had worried that he was diving into things too quickly, that he hadn't had time yet to realize what a change he was making in his life.

That didn't stop him from getting upset. He even pouted at a crime scene with his "smothering" conversation. It's not like we'd see each other any more if I gave up my apartment. Yeah, but that wasn't the issue.

Let's face it – he's a bit sensitive to anything that suggests I don't want to be with him. Hell, he avoided this for years because he worried that I'd eventually leave him. Griss worked up the nerve to face his concerns by being with me, and he's doing a damned good job making this work. But things like that don't disappear overnight.

I hope he doesn't pout after I suggest he take a vacation by himself. It's not cute.

"Made any plans to enter your chess tournament?" she asked, taking care to keep her tone casual.

"Not really," he said, cocking his head as he stared at her. "There's plenty of time to do that later."

"Yeah, it's just that people always say they're going to do something later, but they never get around to it."

"It's not like chess tournaments are once-in-a-lifetime events. There'll always be another one," he said with a dismissive tone.

Sara scowled as she finished with the greens. He wasn't even considering her suggestion. "Well, have you given any more thought about going to ride that new roller coaster you were talking about?" she asked.

"Uh, uh."

"Really?"

"No, dear," he said firmly.

"Oh. 'Cause it sounded like something you were really interested in."

Grissom stopped in mid-taste and set the spoon down. "Do you know something about my health that I should know?" he quipped.

"No," Sara laughed, walking to stand close to him and running her hand up and down his arm. "It's just you haven't taken a vacation in what? Years?"

"Actually, I typically try to do something fun when I go to a conference."

"And when was the last time that happened?"

Grissom shrugged as he poured the sauce into a bowl. Sara rolled her eyes, noting to herself that for someone who insisted that she get a hobby, he rarely did anything outside of work himself.

"Vacation isn't a dirty word," she said jokingly.

"I think our taking vacations at the same time might be noticed."

"We don't have to take them at the same time. I like the idea," she added quickly as his brow puckered. "But you're the roller coaster freak."

"It wouldn't be much of a vacation if you weren't there."

His smile was touching, but still Sara resisted the urge to sigh. As long as they decided to keep their relationship private, taking any type of joint vacation was going to be next to impossible. At most, they could arrange their leave so they had some overlapping days. She learned the importance of taking a breather the hard way; she didn't want him to ever reach that state.

"I don't care if you go somewhere to visit an amusement park. That's not really my thing," she said with a reassuring smile. "I can deal with not seeing you for a couple of days. I know you like the rides."

Grissom actually seemed to think about it, but after a long moment he shook his head. When she started to object, he wagged his eyebrows salaciously. "The rides at home usually aren't over in under two minutes."

Sara felt herself grinning uncontrollably. "Yeah, but you don't have to wait as long for a second ride at the park."

"Some things are worth waiting for," he replied after a moment, dropping his eyes as he started to put away the prepped food.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, kissing his cheek before flashing him an evil grin. "Or was that a brag?"

Grissom darted his eyes to the side to give her an indulgent look. "Definitely a compliment."

"If you say so. I was totally on board with the brag," she purred, resting her hand on his chest. Slowly, she pulled the zipper on his jacket downward, letting her fingers brush against his shirt. Reaching his belly, she ran a fingertip lightly over then under his belt buckle. "I'm heading to bed."

Hearing the frantic sound of containers going into the refrigerator, she laughed softly and began undressing.

Later that evening, Grissom assembled the shells and put them in the oven while she showered. Sara set the table, fixed the salad and other sides as he got ready for work. Dinner was a lighthearted affair, each joking with the other, basking in their mutual love. As they put the last of the washed dishes away, she turned to him and gave him a bear hug.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said with an abashed smile as she leaned back in his embrace.

For the first time in days, his sleep had been peaceful. On top of that, he'd been very relaxed in bed, with no outward signs that the stress of the shooting remained. She still wished he'd talk about it, but her earlier fears were starting to fade.

"Okay," he replied in confusion.

Laughing softly, she played with the curls on the nape of his neck. "Jim's lucky to have you for a friend. You really handled that mess."

He rested his hands on her hips, but cocked his head to the side as he observed her.

"I'd be a wreck if something ever happened to you," she admitted. They'd recently exchanged power of attorney for one another, and if he were ever hurt, she'd follow his expressed wishes, but that didn't mean she would be able to keep her distress in check. Continuing her caresses, she watched as a play of emotions crossed his features. First confusion, followed by amazement then contentment showed in his eyes.

"You'd do fine," he finally said in reassurance, but she saw he was obviously touched that she'd be upset.

"I hope I never have to find out." As she pulled back from another emotional hug, she noted the way he stared thoughtfully at her for a long time.

As the days passed, and he showed no lingering ill effects, Sara began to relax. He slept solidly, without a trace of the restlessness that plagued him earlier, and he was openly teasing and affectionate when they were alone. She still wished he felt comfortable talking to her, but she accepted that he kept what he perceived to be "weaknesses" to himself.

After a court date was cancelled, she decided to surprise him at home. Letting herself in, she noted the array of bags on the counter and stopped to investigate. As far as she knew, they weren't short of any supplies. The amount of fresh fruit seemed unusually high, and the box of artificial sweetener and diet sodas further spurred her curiosity.

Heading to the bedroom, she paused in the doorway. Grissom, dressed in a black tunic, trousers and slippers, gradually rotated as his arms moved in slow, complicated patterns. As she came into sight, he froze in mid-form.

"You're not in court," he noted, discreetly adjusting his outfit as he straightened up.

"The guy jumped bail. The judge issued a warrant for his arrest," she answered, giving her head a shake as she leaned against the doorframe. "And what have you been up to, grasshopper?"

"That was kung fu. This is tai chi."

"That makes sense," she answered vaguely. "More, uh, meditative?"

"Easier on the knees," Grissom said.

Sara looked over her shoulder, pointing into the kitchen. "You're going on a diet, exercising." Turning around, she gave him a lopsided grin. "Is this because of what I said the other day? You're doing this so I won't worry?"

He gave his head a short bob. "I could stand to lose the weight."

"I'll, uh, let you get back to that," she said, her lips twitching as she started to back out of the room. "And let me know when you've lost the first ten pounds."

"Why?"

"If you're doing this for me, the least I can do is give you a treat," she said, raising an eyebrow suggestively before closing the bedroom door.

Soaking in the tub, she closed her eyes and didn't even try to contain her grin. His extra weight didn't bother her at a physical level; he was middle-aged and some spread was to be expected. But she was happy that he was taking better care of himself. That he was doing it for her benefit made the gesture sweeter.

He does so much for me, and what does he expect in return? Not a lot. We make love, but that's not exactly a hardship. I never was a big one for going out, so spending time at home isn't really a sacrifice.

We both agreed it was better to keep this between ourselves. Besides, neither one of us is the type to talk about relationships with our friends. I'd never cheat on him, so being faithful is a given.

_He did ask me to move in. I think I hurt him when I turned him down. He's never mentioned it again. Not that it matters; we're practically living together as it is. We just spend time at both of our places._

_I wish I knew how to tell him how much he means to me. The way I feel safe with him, that he makes me feel so special. Words just don't cut it._

_What would make him happy? _

When he walked into the bathroom, she turned her head and opened her eyes. His gaze ran over her form longingly, and he slipped out of the tunic and sat beside the tub. Grabbing the washcloth, he urged her to sit up and began washing her back in leisurely motions.

"What can I do for you?" Sara asked honestly.

"You're already doing a lot," he answered huskily.

"I'm serious." Leaning back, she ran her knuckles over his chin. "What would make you happy?"

Grissom shrugged as he ran his hand over her wet collarbone. "Just keep being who you are."

She started to protest, but he finished undressing and climbed into the tub, silencing her with his kisses. Afterwards as they lounged in bed, she told him again that she wanted to do something for him.

"Meet me at the home improvement store tomorrow after work," was all he said.

When she arrived the next morning, he was waiting out front with a cup of hot tea. He kept shooting her mildly nervous looks as he led them to the rear of the store, finally stopping in front of a display of closet organization supplies.

"A closet?" Sara stared at the array of shelves and other items. Picking up a large hook, she raised an eyebrow. "Or do you want something kinky?"

"No. Uh, my bedroom closet is big enough, but it just has that one rod," he said, darting his eyes to the side briefly. "There'd be more room if it was organized properly."

"You need more room?" she said, fighting to keep her lips from twitching.

"It, uh, could come in handy. Some day."

As he shifted his weight, Sara picked up a brochure to hide her grin, seriously doubting he'd find her reaction amusing.

"I have the measurements," he added.

"Okay," she said, giving him a fond smile. Pulling out her notebook, she quickly made a rough sketch of his closet.

He's good. He isn't actually asking me to move in, but he's letting me know there's going to be room for me in his home. I don't get why this is such a big deal for him. We see each other all night at work, and almost every day afterwards.

I don't know why I'm surprised. He is big on tradition and stuff. I guess it is more important to him that we formalize our living arrangements.

Oh, damn.

Does that mean he'll want to get married at some point?

That's crazy. It's just a piece of paper. Who cares if the state recognizes it? It's not like he's mentioned anything about it. Well, no shit. Look how he's 'asking' me to move in again. He's not going to risk me turning down an engagement offer. It's not like he's going to come out and ask unless he's sure I want it. And it's not a big deal to me.

But what if it matters to him?

He can be a bit old-fashioned. I, I guess that would be okay. It's not like what we have is anything like what my parents had. I don't need it, but if he wants to get married, I guess I could go through with it.

No damn tacky Vegas wedding, though. I'll draw the line there. And he better not have a stripper at his bachelor party. Right. This is Griss. He'd be more interested in reading a forensics journal than letting Greg get him drunk.

But he does know a lot about sex…Oh, relax! He's making room in his closet. Panic when he starts buying wedding favors.

What if he wants kids? That usually follows getting married.

_Oh, shit, shit, shit!_

_It's one thing if this doesn't work out. It'll suck whether we're married or not, but kids? That's a lifetime commitment._

_He likes kids, but that doesn't mean he wants his own. He's already made plans for his retirement. Even if we had a kid now, Griss would be nearly seventy by the time high school graduation rolls around._

"Hey!" At the unexpected call, Sara snapped her head up suddenly. From Grissom's expression, she gathered he noticed her panicked look, but now wasn't the time to deal with it.

"What are you doing here?" she stammered.

"Lindsey wants to repaint her room," Catherine said with a long-suffering sigh. "How did the kid go from pink ruffles to wanting her room painted flat black? I told her that's not going to happen. I figured I'd take some suitable color samples back to her. What are you two doing here? Something with your case?"

Already feeling nervous, she opened her mouth silently, but Grissom responded calmly. "Sara was kind enough to let me borrow her organizational skills."

"You're finally doing something with that front closet of yours? About damn time."

Giving her head a shake, Sara tried to regain her balance, but she suddenly realized that she'd never seen the inside of his apparently infamous front closet. "What is in there?" she asked.

"You didn't see it before agreeing to do this? You're braver than I am," Catherine chortled as she ignored his pointed glare. "Most people know that having a skeleton in your closet is an idiom. Grissom took it literally."

"You have a skeleton?" Sara asked with a grin.

"Doesn't everyone?" he answered frivolously.

"Usually under their skin," she said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"That's just the start of it. I'm surprised the university hasn't started archeological digs in there," Catherine added.

Sara caught her looking between them with a perplexed expression. Guessing that her mental gears were churning, she acted quickly to draw attention away from them. Turning to Catherine, she immediately grinned playfully. "So, you know what's in Grissom's closet," she said teasingly. "What about his drawers?"

"Hell, no!" she exclaimed, belatedly offering a passable, "no offense."

"You're assuming I have drawers," he pointed out with a slightly miffed air.

Catherine flailed her hands frantically. "Keep your commando self in your pants."

"I was actually referring to a dresser."

"Right. I'm going to get paint," Catherine said, waving as she walked away.

"Try a dark blue or purple. Lindsey might like those instead," Sara suggested, watching their colleague until she disappeared down the cavernous aisle. Letting out a long breath, she leaned against the shelf. "That was close."

"Hmm."

"You don't care that Cath saw us here?"

"Not really," Grissom said, shrugging at her incredulous look. "Catherine isn't going to care if we're together. At most, she'll be upset that she didn't figure it out. She likes to think she knows me better than I know myself."

"If you say so," Sara said, "but you're not the one she tried to get fired."

Grissom nodded his head, pausing as he stared into the distance. "For all her bluster, I think Catherine wasn't as secure in a leadership position as she let on. You bore the brunt of that insecurity."

She gave a noncommittal grunt. "We're lucky it wasn't Ecklie."

"It wouldn't have mattered."

"I think it would, Griss. He wouldn't ignore us being together. It doesn't matter if we did nothing wrong. He's enough of a prick to make it an issue."

"I'm fine with it," he said, setting down the box he'd been inspecting. "I'm the supervisor, therefore I'm the one to blame if any repercussions come from this. And I don't care."

For a long time, she quietly watched him, surprised by how sincere he sounded. He'd dropped hints about what he wanted them to do after Vegas, but she always assumed those were long-term plans. She never considered that he was ready to leave the lab.

"Right. Not that you don't care," she said, although she questioned that. "You're the lab's star. There's no way they'd get rid of you. You have nothing to worry about."

"Neither do you," he said with a finality that caused her to blush.

God, would he quit if it became a problem? That job was his life for over a decade.

"Let's get your closets straightened out before we update our resumes," she said with a forced levity. "Do you know what size your front closet is?"

"No."

"I'll measure it later. If I work up the nerve to open the door," she said, nudging his arm affectionately. "Do you really have a skeleton in your front closet?"

"Yes," he answered between examining shelving units. "McCoy."

Sara laughed as she turned to him. "Bones McCoy? Getting in touch with your inner geek?"

"The real McCoy," Grissom corrected. "Most skeletons are actually fakes, reproductions made from plaster or some other substance. Mine is a real one."

"You have authentic human remains in your closet," Sara said slowly. "Have you ever thought of having a yard sale?"

"No. Why?" he asked, clearly perplexed by her laughter.

"Never mind." After debating the merits of different layout options, they settled on an assortment of units. He seemed uneasy, so as they loaded them into a cart, Sara brushed her hand over his. "Now that you're going to have the extra room, do you think I could keep some more stuff at your place?"

His joyful grin was all the answer she needed.

If Catherine had any suspicions after seeing them together, she didn't mention it, not even to ask Sara if she'd finished with the closet. That prompted Grissom to proudly point out that he had said she wasn't really interested.

Still, she wondered if the others had noticed any changes. They were a crack group of investigators; one of them was bound to perceive something was going on. Besides the obvious lack of tension between them, Grissom almost exclusively paired up with her at crime scenes. That alone would eventually raise suspicions.

One day as they lay sated in bed, she mentioned her thoughts. He opined that the others probably figured they had just returned to being friends, and given the length of time, probably weren't expecting them to be together. To alleviate her concerns, he started adding a third CSI to their cases on occasion.

Sara received further assurance a month later, although the circumstances were less than ideal. She was sitting in the break room scanning a new journal as the team waited for assignments. As soon as he entered the room, she noted his tense posture, but he calmly handed out cases until he reached Nick and Warrick.

"Your suspect claims to have been drunk the night of the fight. I want you to verify her story," he said curtly.

"Well, by the time it broke out, her blood alcohol level was probably…" Warrick began.

"I don't give a damn about probably. I want the two of you to work out the blood alcohol chart for a woman who weighs one hundred and forty five pounds. Start immediately after her last drink and continue at thirty minute intervals."

Sara slid down in her chair, picking up her journal and silently counting to ten.

Nick opened and closed his mouth, exchanging a questioning look with Warrick. "But, we have that information on the computer," he drawled.

"I said I want you to work it out. By hand. I want the charts in my office before the end of shift."

"Griss, man, what's going on?" Warrick said as Greg sneaked out of the room.

"I think you can use the practice. Get started."

"Don't mind him," Catherine said with a knowing shrug after he left. "They've changed the paperwork. Again. He missed the memo, and he has to redo all the expense reports before tomorrow morning's meeting with the sheriff."

"Lucky us," Warrick sighed. "Do you think we have to show our calculations?"

"In his mood? I'm not taking any chances," Nick said.

Finishing her coffee, Sara forced a smile as they begged for her help. Heading to Trace, she gathered her reports, shrugging nonchalantly when Greg asked if she knew what was going on. Keeping her step at a normal pace, she strolled into Grissom's office and took a seat in front of his desk.

"One hundred and forty five pounds?" she said coolly.

Grissom glanced up impatiently, but his shoulders dropped under her unflinching glare. "It's what their suspect weighs."

She continued to stare silently as she fought with her temper. The entire lab probably learned of her drunk driving within a day of it happening; that none of the others seemed to have guessed the true source of his bad mood was little consolation.

"I can't believe you did this. How did you even know they were the ones with me that night?" she said, her voice low but her ire evident.

Glaring over the top of his glasses, he met her gaze evenly. "I checked the timesheets. Greg and Catherine were working late. I doubted that you'd go out for drinks with Hodges."

She bobbed her head, the only outward sign of her anger. His refusal to acknowledge that he was in the wrong fueled her growing irritation. "And you've been waiting for a case to come up where you could punish them. What the hell were you thinking?"

Tossing down his pen, he leaned over his desk. "That they're both trained investigators. That they watched you drink too much. That they should have known not to let you drive," he whispered harshly.

Blinking in surprise, she didn't falter. "All of that applies to me." She waited for a response, but he went back to working on a stack of paperwork. "And it was my responsibility. Not theirs."

"You could have been hurt," he snapped with a ferociousness that startled her.

What the hell?

He's actually shaken. I had no idea I scared him so badly.

I was embarrassed when he picked me up, afraid my career was over, couldn't believe how stupid I had been. He was so calm, though. And kind. He never let on that this bothered him.

It makes sense. He freaked when someone who looked like me was killed.

"Not likely. I was the one who was drunk. Relaxed muscles, less likely to be injured," she pointed out calmly. While she had a better understanding for his behavior, it still wasn't right. "If you're going to be pissed at anyone, it should be me."

His head snapped up as some lab techs walked past his office door, and he gave her a pleading look. "I can't."

She frowned as she leaned back in her chair, wondering if he couldn't get angry with her or if didn't want to have the conversation. With a sigh, she gave him a pointed stare that indicated she was only dropping the subject for now.

"Well, that stain on our suspect's jacket wasn't human blood. It's meerkat," she said, holding up the report. "Mixed with tamarind sauce. Stir-fried Timon?"

"Are there any meerkats in Las Vegas?" he asked.

"I was hoping you knew. I guess I'll be doing some research," she said as she stood up. "What about the guys?"

"They can help you," he groused. "When they get done with the chart."

Deciding not to push the issue at work, she left muttering under her breath about wasted resources, not bothering to look back. The rest of the shift passed without seeing each other. It wasn't until she finished breakfast at her apartment that she wondered if he was angry and pouting, or stuck with paperwork and pissed.

Whatever is going on, I hope his mood doesn't get him in trouble with the sheriff.

And I wanted him to be more open with his emotions. It was like opening a damn bottleneck. He's always been that way. If something makes him angry, everyone knows it. At least he didn't toss any DNA samples this time.

When Grissom finally arrived, he collapsed beside her on the sofa. "I don't want to fight," was all he said. She watched as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, a muscle ticcing above his left cheek. Her first inclination was to offer him a massage, but she got him a bottle of water instead.

"Okay," she agreed. "But we're going to talk."

"They made a stupid mistake. One that could have had tragic consequences," he said, a mix of and exhaustion in his tone.

"My mistake. My consequences. I meant it. If you're going to be angry, get angry with me," she said levelly.

He took a long draw from the bottle, deliberately avoiding her stare. "If I point out that you were probably not in a position to realize you had too much to drink, are you going to get angry?"

"No. That's actually a logical argument. Treating Nick and Warrick like crap isn't."

"What did you expect me to do?" he finally asked in a half-growl. "Pull them into my office and chew them out because you got pulled over for drunk driving? That would have been subtle."

"Do you honestly think there's anyone in the department who doesn't know, Griss?"

"I'm sorry," he said in a voice almost too soft to hear.

What's going on? He's not sorry for what he did to the guys. Something has him worked up.

When she rested her hand over his, he met her eyes for a fleeting moment, but it was enough for her to see his pain. "It never should have gotten to that point."

_He thinks he should have prevented it? Or that he caused it? God, is that why he's so pissed off? He actually thinks he had something to do with what happened? No, he can't. It's stupid. But he's awfully upset. _

"Are you blaming yourself?" she finally sputtered out. "Yeah, you have a big influence on me, but you didn't turn me into a drunk. Don't ever, _ever_ go there."

She squeezed his hand when he turned to watch her. "Look, my childhood sucked. I thought I'd gotten over it. I was wrong. I, uh, guess it was only a matter of time before it became a problem. It wasn't about you, or that promotion mess, or anything like that. Okay?"

"I didn't help," he said.

She rolled her shoulders and debated her next words. His behavior had hurt her, disappointed her in many ways. It had been hard enough to find herself loving a man apparently unwilling to act on his feelings, but his deliberate distance cut her deeply. Worse, she was unable to leave, and that dredged up a fear that she was more like her mother than she wanted to admit.

But the truth was she was responsible for how she reacted, and she had chosen the wrong path. "You didn't cause it. All of it, anyway."

For a long time he remained silent, and Sara finally reached over to rub his shoulder. To her surprise, he shrugged her off and walked into the bathroom. Hearing the shower start, she sat frowning until he emerged wrapped in a towel.

"Just this once, will you please tell me what's wrong?" she pleaded softly. "I want to help, but I don't even understand what's going on."

"I never noticed," he admitted dejectedly. Sinking on the couch, he absentmindedly played with the edge of the material, refusing to meet her eyes until she knelt on the floor before him. "I'm supposed to be this observant savant, and I had no idea," he half-sneered. "More like an idiot savant."

"I didn't tell you," she said, resting her hands on his knees. "Hell, Griss, I didn't tell myself there was a problem. I don't expect you to have picked up on it. Don't do this to yourself."

"I failed you, both as a boss and a friend. If anything had happened to you_…_"

"Nothing did," she insisted, standing up and pulling him off the couch. Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head against his. "I'm fine now. Please don't blame yourself for what happened. I'd never forgive myself for doing that to you."

He pulled back at her words, tilting his head as he furrowed his brow deeply. Sara continued stroking him softly, physically trying to ease his misplaced guilt. When she stepped closer to kiss him softly, he drew her into a tight embrace. Feeling his muscles quake, she murmured tender words between planting kisses on his neck.

Slipping her hand into his, she led him to the bedroom. It was the first time he'd confided something so personal to her, and she suspected he was feeling vulnerable, both from the conversation and the underlying guilt. She planned to allay any lingering doubts, but he didn't allow her touches. Instead he focused on her pleasure alone.

As she lay panting after her second orgasm, he curled up around her, holding her tightly and kissing her hair. They talked for a long time, sometimes addressing what happened, but mostly just comforting one another. When she thought he had relaxed, Sara moved on top of him, gradually bringing both of them to an emotional release.

When she woke up that evening, it was to an empty bed. Heading into the living room, she found a note beside her laptop explaining that he had returned to the lab to finish the reports. Tossing the note away, she swore under her breath as she got ready for work. Finding him in the lab, she stopped outside his door and observed him sadly.

He looks like hell. How can I be angry with him when this is so hard for him? It's the first time he's ever really opened up to me. It went against everything he's known for so long, but he did it for me.

"Hey," she said kindly as she entered his office. His embarrassed demeanor caused her to give a half-smile. "You okay?"

"This new paperwork requirement is stupid. All it does is create more of it. Weren't we supposed to be a paperless society by now?"

"That'll never happen," she said. "And that's not exactly what I meant."

He gave his head a brief nod before tossing his glasses on his desk and rubbing his eyes. "I'm fine," he insisted.

Like hell he is.

_So, do I let him get away with it this time? What choice do I have? He's already on edge. Confront him and who knows how far he'll run away._

_That's not fair. He's not really retreating as much as regrouping. He needs to get his bearings. _

Sure.

"I have a ton of evidence to process," she said. "But if you need a break, let me know."

"Thanks."

She flashed him a tender look before leaving. A few hours later, he found her in the Drying Room and let her know he had brought her lunch from the deli, and he promised to take her out for breakfast after shift. Any plans for a conversation then ended when David and Doc Robbins unexpectedly joined them.

Once in her apartment, he immediately took her to bed, making love with a fierceness he had seldom shown. Afterwards, he cuddled with her before drifting off to sleep. Stroking his hair, she tried to decipher his actions. It seemed as though he was trying to apologize for leaving the day before, but she wondered if he regretted opening up to her.

Grissom didn't mention the conversation, but he took extra pains to please her. At work he was conscientious, and affectionate when they were alone. To her surprise, he shared a few tidbits from his childhood. While not on the same scale as before, she supposed it was his way of saying he didn't mind talking to her.

In return she shared some of her experiences in social services, trying to convey what it was like to be shuffled from one uncaring home to another. How unsettling it was to never form proper roots, always being yanked out of a home when it was finally becoming familiar. The way she had learned never to plan on the future, because it was never settled. That hopes always led to disappointment, leaving indelible scars on her psyche.

He held her close, silently offering her succor in his embrace, and she let herself believe in his presence.

For the next two weeks, they spent as much time as possible with each other. Then Sara had a major court case that kept her away from home for days. As her case was wrapping up, Grissom had to leave to give a lecture in Bakersfield. He returned in time for a gang shooting that had the entire team working around the clock for a week. After that, she had to attend a continuing education seminar for three days.

Heading home on the last day of her class, she smiled to find Grissom already there waiting for her, a bottle of wine sitting on the counter. She greeted him quickly before he captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

"Mmm," she purred as he began to ravish her neck. "Are you always this frisky when you haven't gotten any for ten days?"

"I don't want to find out again," he replied, pushing her against the fridge as his hands worked under her blouse. When his pager went off, he tossed it into the living room.

"I think you better turn that on," she sighed.

"That's not what I want to turn on."

Her chuckle was cut short as he worked his tongue into her mouth, but he pulled back swearing when his cell phone started ringing.

"What?" he barked, running his hand through his hair. "Call someone else…It's my day off."

Sara knew from the way he eventually dropped his shoulders in defeat that the case had to be bad. Heading to the living room, she began hunting for his pager. She heard his swearing as she found it under the coffee table.

"Right. Have someone take pictures every five minutes until I get there," he said, turning to her when she rested a hand on his back. "I have to go. I'm sorry. I don't want to, but …"

"Go. It's okay," she offered, handing him his discarded pager.

"No, it's not."

Before she had time to ask him anything else, he gave her a parting kiss and left. She had maxed out on overtime during the gang shooting, so she wasn't able to head to lab to help. Putting the bottle of wine away, she flipped through a catalogue absentmindedly.

If he's having them take pics every five minutes it must involve bugs. He's never hesitated to help on a case before. I don't think it's just because he's feeling randy.

He's never had to choose between work and me before. Yeah, he's not worked as late at times so we can spend time together. So have I. But it's not the same. He was screwed no matter what he did. He's pissed that he had to go into work, but he's probably also feeling a little guilty because he wanted to blow off the case.

He's so used to being able to do whatever he wants, not having to worry about what I think. I'll talk to him later and let him know I understand. Hell, I have the same job.

Tossing the catalogue away, she let out a huff of air as she looked at the clock. Seeing that she had hours to kill, she went to fix a snack before going to bed. Opening the refrigerator door, she swore softly as she saw the array of food in there.

When she arrived at the lab that night, she went straight to his office. Sitting on the edge of his desk, she frowned at the stack of pictures of a dead boy.

"Tainted heroin," Grissom said as he leaned back in his chair. "He's only twelve."

Knowing the case was bound to upset him, she wanted to hug him. Unable to do that while in the lab, she slid closer to him, letting her leg brush against his.

"Need any help? I'm stuck in the lab for the rest of the month."

He made an effort to give her a thankful nod. "Greg is processing his belongings."

"Okay," she said lowering her voice. "Did you get anything to eat?" When he shook his head, she pulled a plastic container from her bag. At his confused look, she gave him a crooked grin. "It's Sunday dinner. As well as I could make it."

"I'm sorry," he sighed miserably.

"It's okay, Griss," she said quietly. Missing dinner wasn't a big deal to her, but she knew how much it meant to him. She gave his leg another nudge before getting up. "You didn't plan this. We'll catch up eventually."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

"I'm counting on it."

For the next few days, she seldom saw him outside of the lab. They found two potential suspects, but they lacked enough evidence to pinpoint which one supplied the lethal drugs. The lack of resolution added to his misery.

When they finally managed to end up in bed at the same time, he sat on the edge and stared at the floor. Sensing that he was too tired to perform, she insisted that he get some sleep. He started to apologize, but she silenced him with a kiss.

"I hate this job at times," he said, grunting as she started to massage his tense shoulders. "Do you know how many kids I've seen killed by drugs? Too damn many."

"I was joking before, but maybe you should go take that vacation."

Grissom shook his head as he rolled over to pull down the sheets. "I'm fine," he yawned, asleep within minutes of climbing under covers.

Snuggling closely, she kept a silent vigil over him as she caressed his back. It was hours before he stirred and they made love at a frenzied pace. He held her closely for a long time before they drifted to sleep again.

Unlike Brass's shooting, this case didn't seem to carry lasting repercussions for Grissom. That didn't prevent her from being concerned, and she tried to suggest he take a vacation again, only to have him insist that he was fine.

For the next few weeks, she studied their work schedule with a dedication that bordered on obsession. She hoped to find a pocket of time available for them to slip away unnoticed for just a day or two.

I have that seminar next month. If he can arrange his day off… damn. There's a departmental meeting. He's missed too many of those already.

If I take off a few days, say Tuesday through Saturday, and he takes off Friday through Monday … Shit. I have court.

If he waits to take a break until we can do it together, he's never going. But he's not interested in going alone. That's sweet. Really, it is. But it's also stupid. The time off will do him good, but he doesn't believe it.

Face it. I'm not going to be able to talk him into taking a vacation. I'll have to see what I can do to make him more comfortable at home.

This could be fun. A lot of fun.

Grissom noted her playful grin as she headed into the break room at the start of shift, and he cocked his head quizzically. To her surprise, he didn't pair up with her, instead sending her and Nick to a remote location as he finished prepping for a grand jury hearing. Before leaving, she raised an eyebrow suggestively to him, and he gave her a small grin in return.

The next time he saw her he was red with fury.

She saw his Denali coming up the road as the roof of the shack they'd been examining finished collapsing with a loud crash.

"Oh, man," Nick said, his face contorting when he saw Grissom getting out of the SUV. "I'm so screwed."

"It's okay," she said, flinching as the paramedic checked the splint on her ankle.

"Sorry about that," he replied, flashing her a dazzling smile. "We can't have our prettiest passenger bouncing around."

"I'm okay," she repeated, squeezing Nick's hand as much for his benefit as for her own.

"This is my fault. I never should have suggested climbing on the roof to get the gun."

"We needed it. And I do weigh less than you, Nick," she pointed out between gritted teeth. The flirting paramedic was smiling at her again, but she had more pressing matters to deal with first.

"What the hell happened here?" Grissom demanded as he rounded the side of the ambulance.

"Our scene, uh, well, it sort of fell apart," Nick said.

"Sticking with the obvious?" he countered, visibly paling when he took the time to stare at Sara.

"We recovered the key evidence, though," Nick added hopefully.

"Good. Next time, though, try to do it without getting your partner impaled!"

"I'm fine, Griss," she said, her breath inhaling sharply as the paramedics lifted the gurney into the ambulance. Seeing his eyes drop to the chunk of wood sticking out of her thigh, she forced a smile. "Really. It's not in very deep. Just a overgrown splinter."

"It's bad enough that they you have to go to the hospital to get it removed."

She ignored his sarcastic tone; he was overprotective to begin with and unable to comfort her the way he wanted. "All the germs around here? They better not take it out until we're in a sterile hospital," she tried to say jokingly.

"You heard the pretty lady," her would-be-suitor said. "We're headed to the University Medical Center."

"I'll meet you there later," Grissom said before facing Nick. "Can you finish this without any more injuries?"

"Yes, sir."

Sara shot him an irate look before the ambulance doors closed, finally telling the paramedic to back off once they were bouncing down the dirt road. She was in the emergency room for nearly an hour before he joined her, and she immediately waved at him.

"What the hell was your problem?" She grinned broadly when he raised his eyebrow in puzzlement. "Demerol. I'm feeling fine," she added with a hearty chortle. "Except I'm pissed at you."

Sitting by her side, he held her hand as he stared at her leg, the piece of wood still sticking out of a sea of gauze. He didn't move or say a word until the doctor entered carrying a sheaf of x-rays.

"Nothing's broken," he said without preamble. "You did twist your ankle when the roof gave under you. Don't be surprised if your knee aches some after you get home. We'll pull that piece of wood out in a little bit and get the wound cleaned up and stitched, then you can go home."

"You're not going to operate?" Grissom asked.

"It's not in very deep. The main thing is to clean it well to prevent infection. We'll update your tetanus shot and give you some antibiotics," he said to Sara. His attempts to leave were cut short by a barrage of questions from Grissom.

She smiled in a drugged haze as he again took position by her side, her anger displaced by an urge to tickle his chin. Even under the influence of the painkiller, she knew enough not to indulge in that particular wish, but she did laugh from time to time. Her humor started to die off as they continued to wait for treatment, and he finally went to get a nurse.

"There was a food poisoning outbreak at one of the casinos," he said. "They're swamped."

"In puke," she said, frowning when she shifted position.

"Is the Demerol wearing off?"

"A little." Swearing softly, she rolled her head on the pillow, finally focusing on the clock on the side wall. "Griss, you have to be at the courthouse."

"I'll call the DA…"

"No, you won't. I'm going to be stuck here for a while. Go. I'll leave you a message when I need a ride home."

It took her a few more minutes to convince him to leave. She was still upset by his outburst at the crime scene, but he was too obviously anxious for her to be too angry.

Nick came to visit as soon as he got off of work, and he insisted on taking her home. She spent the entire drive trying to recall if Grissom had left any personal items in plain sight in her apartment. As soon as she was inside, she excused herself and closed the bathroom door, quickly hiding any obviously masculine items. Luckily, he didn't stay long, insisting that she rest up and making her promise to call him at the first sign of any complications.

She was half-asleep when Grissom arrived. Forcing open an eye, she found him kneeling beside her bed. His hand hovered over her bandaged leg, but he didn't touch her.

"Hey," she muttered.

"How are you, sweetheart?"

Sara smiled despite the twinges in her leg and residual anger. "Grumpy."

"Did they give you something for the pain?"

"It's not as good as the stuff in the hospital," she said with a yawn. When he helped her scoot up in the bed, she gave him a tolerant grin. It broadened when he hesitantly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gingerly drawing her close. She accepted his embrace, snuggling into his chest.

"What happened out there, Griss?" she eventually asked. "I think Nick felt bad enough without you making it worse."

She felt him take a deep breath. When he didn't immediately answer, she leaned out of his arms and turned to stare at him.

"I get nervous when you're around paramedics," he answered warily.

Letting out a moan, she waved off his panicky expression. "I'm fine," she stated, closing her eyes as she slid out of his arms.

He did hear the paramedic. All of this because he's having a jealous fit. Well, he'd have been upset even without the guy flirting with me, but not like this.

We've talked about this before. He doesn't have any reason to be jealous, and it gets old pretty quickly.

"You think I was planning on banging the guy in the back of the ambulance," she said shortly.

"No!"

"Do you want to know if I got his phone number?"

"Sara," he sighed.

"If you trust me, then there's no reason for you to get upset," she pointed out evenly. "You don't own me, you don't decide who I talk to."

"I don't pretend that I do."

"Jealousy is about possession."

He dropped his shoulders in defeat, tentatively reaching over to take her hand in his. "I don't want to lose you," he answered weakly.

He's definitely upset, and it's not just about the paramedic. I guess my leg looked pretty bad. He probably thought I really messed myself up. I wonder what the deputy said when he called to let him know I had been hurt. He had that whole drive to work himself into a frenzy, probably imagining the worst.

That doesn't excuse his jealousy, though. He regrets it, I can tell from his nervousness. I feel like I'm scolding a puppy.

How can he be so cute and aggravating at the same time?

"Griss, you're stuck with me." She waited until he gave her a quizzical look before she smiled. Reaching out, she caressed his cheek. "I'm never going to leave you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Ever After  
Summary: **Life isn't a fairy tale, and happily isn't guaranteed.  
**A/N: **I didn't want to wait until the next episode aired to finish this, but I had no idea what was going to happen. I ended up making up my own plot. Just before I went to post this last chapter, I saw the actual promo on CBS. Let's just say my conclusion was a bit different than what they showed. I'm in the process of rewriting this last chapter, but here's the first half.  
**Rating: **This is probably PG-13. If you want something higher, insert the appropriate parts (pun intended) with whatever floats your boat.  
**Disclaimer: **Uhm, I currently have no beta, so some typos probably slipped by me.

* * *

**Part III – a**

"Griss, I want to go out," Sara said, giving him a broad grin. The action covered the laugh that threatened to erupt when he looked up from the assignment slips with a fleeting nervous expression. Her request was unusual enough, but their current location made his reaction especially comical.

"We can go out for breakfast," he replied, waving to the assembled team before heading quickly to the door.

"What about going out in the field?"

"You can't eat breakfast in the field," his voice carried from the hallway.

Sara let out a loud huff, giving her colleagues a mock-scowl when they started to chuckle. "This is all your fault," she said to Nick, but her smile let him know she was joking. He felt bad enough about the accident, even if he wasn't responsible.

"Don't blame him," Greg replied boisterously as he started to push her chair towards the break room door. "He doesn't understand what it means to 'nail the girl'. Figures of speech are beyond him."

Before Nick had time to defend himself, Sara grabbed the edge of the table, and Greg bent over double as he ran into the back of the now immobile chair.

"Just because it has wheels, doesn't mean it's a wheelchair. I'm fine," she said, silently willing her body to behave as she stood up. When the guys immediately moved to her side as a precaution, she growled.

"You jinx yourself every time you say that," Catherine pointed out in amusement.

"I know, I know," she groused, cautiously shifting her weight and relaxing when her leg remained steady. "Can't you talk to him?"

"Sorry, kiddo. Assignments are his call."

Rolling her eyes, Sara walked slowly towards the exam room. She knew Grissom had evidence waiting there, and they needed to talk – privately. She understood that her accident upset him, but he was taking things too far.

She missed only one day of work, mainly because she ached too much to get out of bed the day after the accident. The next evening she hobbled into the lab on crutches, Grissom hovering around nervously the entire time. He had kept her confined inside the building, not even allowing her to be near chemicals until the stitches came out.

Not wanting to make a scene – and still aching – she acquiesced quietly and spent the days sorting through photographic evidence, doing paperwork and other mundane tasks. Despite its ugly appearance, the puncture wound on her leg healed quickly without any complications.

Her ankle, though, was another story.

It refused to mend in what she considered a timely manner. Even after the swelling went down, it was tender and had a tendency to give out if she walked more than a short distance on it. Her doctor insisted it was just a bad sprain that was healing slowly, telling her to be patient and to take it easy. After a prolonged grilling by Grissom, the doctor finally sent her to an orthopedic surgeon, who reached the same conclusion.

Already overprotective, Grissom responded by refusing to let her do anything that he thought would put any stress on her ankle. Unfortunately, his definition of stress turned out to be extensive. At work, she sat at a workstation, and he unobtrusively arranged for lab techs to bring evidence to her.

At home, his attention was more direct; he shadowed her every move. Anything she could possibly want was always within arm's reach. He was extra considerate, doting, and Sara was ready to scream after a very short time. Inaction wasn't in her nature, and her frustration rose as her body failed to cooperate. While he sensed her irritation and reined in his fussing at home, he remained overly cautious at work.

She made things worse by trying to show him that her ankle was fine, hopping around the break room in demonstration. All she accomplished was twisting it again and fueling his concern. For the last two weeks she'd been able to get around without any trouble, but he still refused to let her out in the field.

_He knows I'm better, but he's being too cautious. So, what am I going to do? I can't really argue with him. That's the one real compromise I had to make – he runs the show at work. We can't do anything that causes ethical problems. I can't ask him for recommendations for a promotion, and I won't ask for any special consideration._

_But this isn't special. There's no reason for him to keep me in the lab. He wouldn't treat one of the guys this way._

_Well, he isn't sleeping with any of the guys. That complicates things. I can't push this, but maybe he'll listen to me. I hope so. I'm about ready to go stir-crazy._

"Hey," she said as entered the room, quickly scanning it to make sure they were alone.

"Hey." He voice was soft, and he gave her a tender look before returning his attention to the stained material on the table before him. After finishing his photographs, he noted her questioning look and held up the sleep shorts with a singed crotch.

"A hunk, a hunk of burning love?" She grinned as he peered over the top of his glasses, his eyebrows moving towards his hairline. "Do you prefer Jerry Lee Lewis? That seemed too obvious."

"I never was a fan," he said evenly, shooting her another look. "And you're scary."

Standing close enough that their arms brushed, she bent forward to look at the material. "So, what's the story?"

"Mrs. Patel claims her husband fell asleep while smoking and drinking. Mr. Patel says his wife tried to flambé him with red wine."

"Either would explain the red stains," she said.

Grissom nodded. "But wine doesn't have enough alcohol to burn well, and the material is fire retardant. All it managed to do was scare him."

"Which explains the other stains," she said, her face screwing up as she leaned back from the shorts.

"Presumably. You can find out," he said.

"Gee, thanks." As she prepared the evidence, she steeled herself and spoke softly. "I never figured that you'd take advantage of me."

Her lips twitched as his head snapped up, turning to her in confusion. His mouth opened and closed, but Grissom never spoke.

"You know that I'm not going to challenge you at work," she continued, giving him a gentle smile. "You're taking advantage of that. I'm ready to go back into the field. You know that, too."

"No, I don't," he said, dropping his eyes to his evidence.

"I'm fine. Trust me."

"I'd rather keep you in the lab until I know you're ankle is completely healed. I don't want you injuring it again."

_I guess kicking his ass wouldn't help me make my case. It's a tempting idea. He knows he doesn't have a legitimate reason for keeping me in the lab._

_Look at him – he's still worried. It's sweet. He really did go out of his way to take care of me. Okay, he almost drove me batty, but he was just looking out for me._

_But I still want to kick his ass._

"You just like to coddle me," she said, nudging him playfully.

Grissom gave her a quick smile. "No, I like to cuddle you."

"Coddle."

"You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to."

Sara turned to him, resting her hip on the bench top. "Griss, we both say po-tay-to. And you're coddling me."

His shoulders moved in an ambiguous way, and she waited a moment longer before she returned to collecting stain samples from the shorts.

_He's considering what I said. I guess that's something._

_I'm glad the doctor didn't send me for any physiotherapy. I'd never get back into the field if that happened. Hell, Grissom would have made Ronnie and Hodges carry me around on one of those lounge chair things._

That visual prompted her to chuckle out loud, causing Grissom to give her a quizzical look.

"I'm not laughing about this," she said, nodding to the shorts. "Did Mr. Patel say why his wife would want to, uh, roast his chestnuts over an open fire?"

"You are very scary," he said in a tongue in cheek manner. "He said it was because he never told her he loved her."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Well, her reaction was a bit, uhm, counterproductive? Not exactly the right way to kindle the flames of desire," she said as she reached for a bindle. The corner of Sara's lips curled as he shook his head. "Sorry. That was the last one. But I can see where it's frustrating for a wife."

"It's not an easy thing to say," Grissom said in a quite voice.

"Yes, it is. It's three monosyllabic words." She turned to face him, almost smiling at his edgy expression. Taking pity on him, she caught his eye and continued. "Maybe it's too easy. People say it all the time when it isn't really true. What really matters is how someone acts."

She heard him let out a relieved huff, and she turned her head in time to see his nervous look morph into a contented air. He'd never actually said the word to her, but he had also done nothing to make her doubt his feelings.

"Of course," she added with a wicked grin, "it's still nice to hear."

Cocking his head in her direction, he raised an eyebrow and stared silently. She smiled when he leaned slightly so that his arm pressed gently into her side. Returning the pressure, she shared a long, affectionate look with him.

_This isn't easy for him. Remember that. For all his intelligence, he doesn't get relationships, but he's trying. And there's no question that he cares. He can show me, but for some reason he's not good at vocalizing it._

_It doesn't help that I work for him. He has to balance that with everything he does. But it's not like Ecklie would think Grissom was giving out love tokens if he let a subordinate get hurt on the job._

_Unless he was with Heather._

_Whoa._

_Where did that come from? That was years ago, and Griss swears nothing happened. Not that it matters; I was with Hank then. Yeah, well, he was scum, but he didn't make money by degrading people. Huh. Guess everyone does have a jealousy gene, even me. _

_But I can keep mine under control._

"So, are you worried about my ankle, or that I'll run into another paramedic?" she asked, giving him a small grin.

"I think I'll plead the Fifth on that one."

His deliberately frightened tone caused her to laugh; she had already let him know his jealousy was both unnecessary and slightly insulting. It still lingered, but he made an effort to keep it in check.

Finishing with her evidence, she gathered it up and paused at the door. "Griss?"

After a long moment he sighed. "If something comes up that's not going to be too strenuous, I'll let you know."

"Sounds fair," she said, giving him a warm wink before exiting the room.

At the end of shift, he startled her by driving her to Lake Mead. They shared a luxurious breakfast at a dockside restaurant before heading home. There, he made love with her slowly and tenderly. The way he whispered her name over and over again reminded her of a lustful prayer.

Before she headed for the shower, he captured her body and drew her down beside him. He ran his hands around her foot gingerly, and she found his examination improbably arousing. Straddling his waist she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Did I pass inspection?" she asked between nibbling his earlobe.

"You can go to a scene if it's not too rough," he promised before rolling them over.

Her relief was short-lived. For the rest of the week he deemed all the new cases off-limits, noting they involved climbing outside for evidence collection or some other excuse. She didn't confront him at work, but she made it a point to start jogging again.

He said nothing.

That made her question his motives, wondering if his concern was about her getting hurt in general. It hadn't been a serious injury, nor was it her first, but it had been his first scare since they got together. Keeping that in mind, she tried to remain patient, but her independent nature bridled under his zealous protectiveness.

"You have a dead body. Suspicious circs," she said without preamble as she sidled into his office. She added pointedly, "In a casino. With flat floors."

"Catherine and I are handling it," he said, holding up his hand. "It's backstage at Cirque du Soleil. That place is a maze, cables all over the place, moving platforms. There are too many things that can screw up your ankle."

She bobbed her head silently, fighting back her irritation. "Fine."

"But you have your own dead body," he added, smiling at her happy expression. "Work with Warrick. Possible suicide at the Rampart demo."

"Sweet!"

As they headed to the Denali, Warrick grinned openly at her excitement. "It's not a major case," he teased her. "You're worse than Greg."

"Hey, you haven't been stuck in the lab for half of the summer."

Once at the scene, she quickly noted how he tried to handle all of the equipment. Taking her hit from his hand, she paused and gave him a sharp look. "Did Grissom tell you to watch out for me?"

"Only that I'll work every decomp for the next five years if I let you run off and get yourself hurt again."

"I did not get myself hurt," she countered irately.

He gave her an incredulous stare. "Girl, you climbed on top of a debilitated building and fell through a roof."

"Technically, a small portion of the roof that I was standing on collapsed. Only my leg went through it."

"Well, I don't like decomps, so you're not getting on any roofs today," he said, taking the case from her. Lifting it over his head, he waved it out of her reach mischievously. She rolled her eyes at him and grabbed the kit when he lowered it. Once on the scene, he only kept a cautious watch, letting her work her part of the scene without interference.

It was odd not being with Grissom after they had worked together so often, but she was happy enough to be on an actual case. When he brought her lunch, she was pleasantly surprised and shared her french fries with Warrick.

If he found Grissom's behavior odd, he never let on. Once again, Sara wondered if their friends were totally clueless about their relationship, or, if after years of conflicting evidence, they finally gave up trying to figure it out. It amused her to think of their reactions if the others ever did learn that they were together.

When she wrapped up her case, Grissom surprised her again by calling her to his latest crime scene. The media attention and the large crowd clued her in that this was something big, but she didn't recognize the dead man slumped over the table. When he quipped that Izzy was before her time, she hoped his humor was real, knowing that their age difference had been a concern for him.

She wasn't able to stay long, a frantic and mysterious call from Catherine sending her to a motel on the other side of town. That investigation folded quickly when someone kidnapped Lindsey. By the time she returned to help Grissom with his case he had run out of suspects.

The miniature crime scene was terrifying, clearly indicating that the murder spent considerable time recreating the dead rock star's kitchen, down to the drawer holding the rolling pin. The reason for leaving it behind wasn't as clear. Was the killer taunting them, giving them a hint about another crime, or leaving a message for the surviving family? Or was there no reason; maybe the killer was insane.

The unanswered questions plagued both of them, and she wasn't surprised when Grissom remained at the lab to examine the diorama further. Her comments earlier about his obsessive nature were a joke, but there was an element of truth to them. This case piqued his curiosity, and he wanted answers. Recognizing his mood, she asked if he wanted her to bring him something to eat and then left.

When she woke that night, he was sleeping soundly beside her, and she rolled over to rest her head on his chest. Listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat, she lazily traced patterns on his pajama top. She'd never been one to stay in bed, but these stolen moments were a private indulgence.

_I used to make fun of people who talked about doing stuff like this. Romance was something my mom read about in books, not something that I thought was real. But this is …unbelievable. I can't get over how nice it is just to be here with him. A couple of years ago I would have just showered and gone to work if I woke up early. Now I play with his clothes. It's weird._

_Maybe this is normal. It's not like I had any realistic role models growing up. I don't know. It's not like I felt anything like this with the other guys I've been with. Yeah, well, none of them were Grissom. It feels right with him. I can't see myself acting this way with anyone else._

_Not that I plan to find out. _

_I never thought I'd ever feel so … settled down. Me. The science nerd who never was asked to a dance, the workaholic who thought she didn't need anyone in her life. It's not like I'd spend the rest of my life pining for him if this didn't work out, but I don't even want to think about losing him._

_I wonder if he thought about that. Is that why he was afraid to be with me? Did he understand how much it would hurt if something happened? Has he gone through this before?_

_It's hard to say. If so, he's never mentioned it. He obviously wasn't a virgin, but he acts like someone who never was in a relationship before. That's not surprising._

_Griss really is a great guy, and I can't think what would make me happier. But he's also someone who doesn't have any problems putting dead rodents in the fridge for an experiment or not coming home for two days straight because there's a corpse that caught his attention. Stuff like that can turn someone off pretty quickly._

_I spend a fortune on nonoxynol-nine, but he's worth it. Probably a good time to let him know that._

She stayed by his side as he began to stir. When he finally opened his eyes, his clothes were undone and Sara was leaning naked over him. In the dim light, he just made out her loving look before she kissed his chest and slowly moved her lips down his body.

After her shower, she followed the sound of his humming to find him dishing up their dinner. Walking up to him, she went to kiss his cheek, but he pulled her into a bear hug.

"Someone's in a good mood today," she laughed as he nuzzled her neck.

"I can't imagine why."

The lighthearted mood lasted through dinner, and Grissom offered to do the dishes while she went to the lab. It was part of their routine; if they both had to go to work in the evening, they made a point of showing up at different times. She hated the waste of both of them driving, but that was also part of their attempts to be discreet.

"Have you debriefed Warrick yet?" she asked him with an amused tone as she packed her bag.

"No. Why?"

"To see how I did. I know you had him babysitting me. 'So I wouldn't run off and get myself hurt again' if I remember correctly."

"Those were not my words," he corrected rapidly. When she held his gaze, he finally let out a small huff. "You tend to, uh, overestimate your ankle's ability. It's gone out on you before."

"That was weeks ago. Really, I'm fine. I didn't have trouble. At any of the scenes."

"I'm glad to hear it." His look was so tender that she relented, shaking her head before kissing him goodbye.

"See you later," she said.

That night he assigned her to his case again, and she felt him watching her closely as she gathered evidence. The pattern repeated over the next few days. He didn't openly question her performance, but she knew he was making sure she didn't overextend herself. He even reacted nervously when she picked up a chainsaw to 'attack' him in a reconstruction. She teased him about it the next morning until he corralled her in the bedroom, effectively silencing her jokes with his kisses.

She resisted the urge to complain when he insisted that she only collect evidence from the victim of a horrible beating. He was still overprotective, a fact that she appreciated, but she made a point of demonstrating how well she had healed by energetically kicking the dummies while comparing shoe patterns. She even mock-challenged him when he commented on her behavior, hoping to make it clear that she was physically fine. There hadn't been time to see if her message got through to him, though.

When she learned about Greg's attack, she left to be by his side immediately. He was more than a friend, even if never quite reaching the level of a romantic interest. They had a closeness that went beyond mentoring; he was almost a brother to her. Seeing him lying there, Sara found herself unable to control her tears.

More than anyone else on the team, she understood how much pain he had to be in, but nothing she suffered as a child compared to the savagery of his attack. He had to be in physical agony. Worse, she feared what it would do to his soul.

_This was normal for me. I can't even remember the first time I was beaten. It was a part of our life; I thought it happened to everyone._

_Greg knows better. God, he's such a gentle spirit. He didn't deserve this. No one does but especially him. He's never hurt anyone before. This is so foreign to him._

Unwilling to leave him alone, she knelt by his side until the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance. She followed them to the hospital, staying with him until the doctor shooed her out of the examining room. Even then she remained at the hospital, waiting for the surgeons to finish with his attacker.

Gathering the evidence, she felt little sympathy for the young man's condition. Not that she thought he deserved his fate, but he had instigated the situation; he had the power to diffuse it. Instead, he chose to escalate matters. His actions resulted in his own injuries, not to mention contributing to the death of a poor father and leaving three others with scarred psyches.

She wondered if her perceived harshness was a residual element from her childhood, but she found herself strangely not too concerned. Rounding a corner, the matter faded from her mind as she caught sight of Grissom.

He silently brushed hands with her as she showed him the contact lenses, offering her a private comfort. They talked about the case for a moment before he asked if she was all right. After a brief conversation, he gave her a wan smile and told her to take her time visiting Greg.

Her stop was short. He was fighting the medications to stay awake, and she knew he needed the rest. She offered what solace she had, and then dove into finding the gang responsible for the attacks with an intensity she hadn't felt in a long time.

Catching them left her unsettled. The casualness with which they carried out their attacks disgusted her, and she dismissed the excuses the others offered in the locker room. At least Grissom understood. She was glad when he joined them on the Mexican food run the next day. He was the first one to head for the door, and a subtle nod at the bed conveyed his message.

"Guys, Greg's probably tired," she said, and his weak nod confirmed it. She promised to visit again later, and kissed his forehead before leaving.

Back at his townhouse, Grissom silently hugged her when she let herself in. Not trusting her voice, she didn't try to start a conversation, settling for the security of his embrace. For a long time they just stood there, and Sara blinked back the moisture in her eyes.

"You don't have to hold it in. I know the two of you are close," he whispered into her hair.

"Griss," she responded weakly, unable to find the words to express her pain. Shaking her head, she pulled away and took his hand. Leading him to the couch, they sat close together, and he ran his hand soothingly over her back.

"Your visit meant a lot to him," she finally said. "He told me all about it. How you were the first person he ever told about his folks."

"I didn't know what to say."

"Sometimes it's not what you say. Just being there is enough. He knows you care," she said, a yawn suddenly escaping her lips.

"Come on," Grissom said. She didn't resist as he led her to the bedroom. She was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. Changing into their pajamas, they snuggled close together in the bed, and she fell asleep listening to his heartbeat.

Sara woke up in an empty bed. Heading into the living room, she found him on the couch. The tightness around his mouth and eyes was the only physical indication of his distress, but a half-empty tumbler of bourbon in his hand made her wary. He almost never drank alone. Standing by the edge of the couch, she waited for him to react, but he seemed oblivious to her presence.

_This got to him. He really cares about Greg. I guess the whole team. It's probably the closest he had to a family._

_He's probably upset that he sent him out alone. It was a freak occurrence. What were the odds that Greg would drive by one of the beatings?_

"It wasn't your fault," she eventually said in a soft voice, tilting her head at his confused expression.

_Okay, that wasn't what was bothering him. _

She waited for him to say something, but he just took another drink. She looked over her shoulder to the bedroom and debated what to do. As much as she'd rather be with him, she knew there were times he needed his space.

"Would you rather be alone?" she asked kindly. "I can change and go to my place. It's not a problem."

"What? No," he said. "No. Come here."

Slipping under his proffered arm, she ran her fingers over his jaw. When he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, she snuggled closer against him.

"You okay?" she asked.

Opening his eyes, he let out a small sigh and moved his head slightly from side to side. Taking another sip of bourbon, he resumed staring into space.

_At least he didn't deny it this time. I'm not sure that's a good sign – how bad does it have to be if he's acknowledging it? Something is up. He's not going to talk about it. Well, not to me._

_Is there anyone he talks to? I know sometimes he and Brass share drinks after bad cases, but I don't know if they actually discuss things. He's not as close to Catherine as he used to be, so I doubt if they talk._

_I wish he would open up somehow. I know it's not easy, but all that stress can't be good for him._

"Anything I can do to help?" she asked hopefully.

For some reason, her question triggered a response in him. He set the glass down and drew her into his lap. Kissing her forehead, he leaned back and pursed his lips uncertainly.

"How are you? This had to bring up bad memories," he said tactfully. She must have given him a surprised look because he went on in a gentle tone. "What you were saying in the locker room about bad parents not being an excuse for their behavior."

"That was common sense. I don't think I'm any kind of a role model." Her response came out almost as a snort, and he cocked his head as he gazed at her.

"You made a lot out of your life, especially considering your childhood."

She didn't say anything, just shrugged and stared at her fingers as they fiddled with the collar of his pajamas.

"Do you miss them?"

_Damn, he went for a couple of years without ever asking about them. Why now?_

_Guess Griss doesn't have the monopoly on being close-lipped. I can't complain that he doesn't share when I haven't said a word about my parents since that day he came to my apartment._

_Oh, hell._

"Yeah," she answered truthfully, clearing her throat quickly. "Sometimes. Other times? I wish I had gotten the hell away from them sooner."

"That's understandable," he said, capturing her hand in his own and squeezing it reassuringly.

"I, uh, I think it would have been easier if they had been monsters all the time," she said, the weakness of her voice surprising her. Talking a deep breath, she continued. "There were times when they were actually good parents. Not often," she added.

"I suppose that's to be expected."

"I remember having a bad stomach virus when I was about six, I guess. My mom never left my side. Every time I woke up she was there, changing my pajamas or the sheets, giving me something cold to drink. She sang to me."

Grissom wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders, but she refused to let the tears start, afraid that she'd be unable to control the onslaught. She'd never admitted these feelings to anyone; not the school psychologists or her PEAP counselor.

"I wasn't always a good student," she said, his stunned look prompting a smile despite her unease. "I just did enough to get by."

"The material was probably too easy for you. You got bored," he offered, his honest faith earning him a brief hug.

"More likely that my parents didn't put much value on an education. Then my brother really screwed up, and his teacher showed up at the house. My mom had a black eye, and my arm was in a cast. I didn't understand it at the time, but she obviously realized something was wrong at our house."

"Was your father there?"

"Yeah," she whispered harshly, her eyes closing at the memory. "He beat my brother bad – worse than anything I had seen up to that point. It scared me, so I started studying harder. And then my parents got a letter from my school saying they wanted to talk to them."

"That must have frightened you," he said sadly, kissing the top of her head when an involuntary shudder wracked her body.

"Hell, yeah. I was petrified. I sat in the front seat and didn't move a muscle. Mom didn't go; she was too bruised. My dad just glared at me the whole drive, and I knew I was going to get into so much trouble when we got home. Then the teacher showed him the results from the standardized tests we had just taken the week before. They moved me into a more advanced class."

"What did he do?"

"He drove me to the bar where his friends hung out, and he bragged to all his friends that his daughter was a genius," she said, rubbing her eyes impatiently. "Then he took me out for ice cream. It was great. I had never seen him so happy, and he was kinder that night than he had ever been.

"After that I thought, maybe, if I studied hard enough, things at home would be better. That I could keep making Dad happy enough not to argue with Mom. That if I tried hard enough I could make things better at home." Sara let out a short, humorless laugh. "It didn't work."

"It was a normal reaction," Grissom whispered. "Abused children often blame themselves. You know that it wasn't you fault. You did nothing to deserve what happened to you."

"Yeah," she said, finally wiping at the tears forcing their way from her eyes. "I always wondered what screwed me up more: That I loved people I had every reason to hate, or that I hated the two people I should have loved unconditionally."

"Oh, Sara," he moaned heartbreakingly as he drew her closer. "Don't do this to yourself, honey. You're amazing. Don't ever doubt that."

Years of repressed emotion mixed with anguish over Greg's injuries. She buried her face in his neck, his loving words and gentle caresses easing her embarrassment and pain.

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispered into his skin.

_TBC_

* * *

**A/N II: **If anyone is curious as to what I intended first, I'll post a mini-summary at my website and in my profile later. Be aware that it'll be spoilerish. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Ever After  
Summary: **Life isn't a fairy tale, and happily isn't guaranteed.  
**A/N:** Ah, so many options for what to do in this chapter. I tried at least a dozen versions, and I even considered doing a pregnancy storyline. But I ended up sticking with what Grissom and Sara do best (worst?) – not communicating well. Thanks to everyone who was kind enough to offer feedback. It's greatly appreciated.  
**Disclaimer: **I'm out of them.

* * *

**Part III – b**

Letting out a sigh, Sara looked nervously over her shoulder toward the bathroom door. She had heard Grissom moving about earlier, but even after an exceptionally long shower she wasn't ready to face him yet. That she was stalling for time infuriated her, but she needed to gather her resolve, and it was proving harder to do than she imagined.

Opening up to Grissom about her childhood left her unsettled. The wounds were decades old, but addressing them dredged up new pain. She had spent years telling herself that she was beyond all that, but the truth was she could never completely escape it. Her near-burnout established that fact, and this latest reminder was unwelcome.

Early experiences influence everyone, laying the foundation of their outlooks and personalities. While the nightmares of her childhood fueled her drive and determination, they also left flaws. Some were obvious – she had no tolerance for abusive situations, and her temper often flared. Others ran deeper, touching her soul even if most people never realized they existed. She didn't trust easily, having been hurt too many times; she didn't form bonds, knowing it was only a matter of time before she was left alone again.

As a result, Sara spent her adulthood living a paradox: she wanted to be loved, but she refrained from exposing herself emotionally. She craved the very connection she knew was dangerous. To let someone in was to give them the power to hurt you. She'd taken occasional lovers, had treated them as affectionately as she was able, but she had never truly been in love.

Then she met Grissom.

She'd fallen for him totally, with a speed that still left her speechless. At first, she dismissed it for physical desire, but neither time nor distance diminished her feelings. When his invitation came to join him in Las Vegas, she had taken it without a second thought. As they settled into a comfortable working relationship, she ignored years of harsh lessons and began to hope for more. And every time something dashed those dreams, it uncovered some hidden scar. Even though that something was often Grissom himself, she hung around. Love was new, a powerful sensation that overwhelmed her logic and quashed her misgivings.

Eventually her endurance paid off, and they'd been happy together ever since that night he'd first taken her out to dinner. But for all that comfort they rarely talked, at least about emotionally charged issues. Part of it was her natural reservations, and part of it was due to Grissom's disdain for such matters. It wasn't that he didn't care – she was sure he did – but he didn't know how to handle emotional situations. He was a man used to being in charge of all aspects of his life, and that uncertainty always left him uneasy. Given the choice, he avoided embroiling himself with them, but last night she unloaded her deepest fears on him.

Pushing away from the sink, she finished her preparations quickly, ignoring the slight shaking in her hands. No one was likely to invent a time machine before shift started, so she couldn't take back the secrets she had revealed. She had to face the consequences.

Her counselor had insisted that sharing painful experiences was essential to the healing process, but in the aftermath she felt like it had added new chinks instead of helping. A wry expression formed as she finally walked to the door, wondering if he knew how monumental her conversation had been.

_Must be a sign that I trust him. I never considered telling anyone else what I told him. Then why am I avoiding going out there? Guess it's still raw. Or I'm not used to exposing myself like that._

_Better get this over with. I'm not helping anything by staying in here._

Heading into the bedroom, she found him sitting on the edge of the already made bed, holding his clothes in his lap. They stared at each other for a long moment before she looked away with an embarrassed flush.

"This isn't awkward at all," she said, trying to make it sound jovial.

Grissom tilted his head as he frowned. Getting off the bed, he set his clothes down on the dresser and stood in front of her. A flash of guilt washed over her as she saw him struggling to find words, and she quickly shrugged off his concern.

"Sorry about that," she said. "It's a touchy subject. Didn't mean to dump all of that on you yesterday."

"Sara," he exhaled softly. His hands flexed before capturing hers, holding them gingerly as he kept his eyes focused on the floor. When he looked up, he gave a gentle squeeze. "I may not know what to say, or what to do, but I can listen."

A weak, grateful smile formed as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Thanks."

He nodded before quickly gathering his things and disappearing into the bathroom. She almost chuckled when she realized how long he'd been waiting to get in there. Once in the kitchen she found the coffee already made, and sipped a cup as she settled her nerves.

_That went better than I expected. He's uncomfortable, but he didn't retreat. That's the way he always acted in the past._

_Man, I can't believe I told him that shit. I try not to even think about it. I don't think I would have ever told him about it at all if he hadn't pressured me that day. I don't know why I even admitted it then. I was ready to be fired; I could have told him to butt out._

_Maybe I wanted him to know, maybe I wanted to show him I knew about pain._

_Or I had nothing left to lose. I think I was ready to bail on him then. Never thought he'd be so supportive at that point. He really surprised me._

_Wonder what other surprises he has in store._

When he emerged later neither of them mentioned her childhood, but they stood close together as they ate a dinner of leftover Chinese carryout. They chatted casually, making tentative plans for a rare shared day off that was coming up. As she cleared away the remains, he rested a hand on her shoulder. After a beat, he kissed her before heading into work.

Everyone there was still on edge, worried about Greg in the aftermath of his attack. Besides dealing with his injuries, he had the added burden of knowing that he killed someone. Even if he didn't intend it, the fact had to bother him, and Sara tried her best to console him.

When he was able to come back to work, Grissom kept a circumspect eye on him, and told her outright to monitor his behavior. Greg was more subdued than normal, but otherwise he showed no outward signs of his ordeal. They maintained their watch, gradually relaxing when it seemed that he'd be all right.

Through it all, she realized that Grissom was also still observing her. Her leg was thoroughly healed, and he was letting her work more cases. Still, he almost always assigned her to his cases, and while she enjoyed the time together, his protectiveness chaffed at times. The obvious emotion behind his actions soothed her, though.

_Hell, if I could put up with him all the times he ignored me I can handle his being a mother hen._

A new case reminded her how little they knew about each other in some ways. She honestly feared she had insulted him with her casual dismissal of religion. Even though he assured her otherwise, he seemed distracted. She chalked that up to the nature of the crime, suspecting that the desecration of a church bothered him, whether he was still a practicing Catholic or not.

It was the way he held her gaze when discussing the dead woman's pregnancy that truly confused her. It held an obvious intensity, but his meaning was lost on her. She wasn't sure if he was considering her becoming pregnant, if the idea appealed to or appalled him. For the next few days, she debated asking him outright.

_It's the easiest way to find out. So, what if he says yes? Is that something I'm ready to do? God, I love him, but that is such a big deal. It's permanent. That's good on one hand; we'd always have that part of our love. But I don't know the first thing about being a parent. Well, a good one at least._

_What if he says no, what then? I, I don't know. I've never had to think about it before. It's not been something that was likely to happen. Do I want a kid? Do I actually think I'd be a decent mother?_

_What if he thinks I want a kid if I ask him about it? He might say yes just to make me happy._

_Oh, shit._

_That's probably a discussion that should wait until I figure out what the hell I want._

While she didn't bring it up with him, she found her thoughts drifting to the idea at odd moments. She'd never given the matter much attention before, never picturing herself as the maternal type, but the draw was there. Obviously part of it was biological, she told herself, an ingrained desire to continue the genetic line. It was what ensured the survival of any species after all.

But there was an emotional appeal as well. She couldn't deny it, even if she wasn't sure it was strong enough to take the chance. A child wasn't something you discarded if the experience didn't match your expectations. Given her background, she wasn't sure she was the best-equipped person to be a mother, even if she decided that she wanted to be one.

A horrible crime pushed those thoughts away. She always found any type of sexual abuse disgusting, but working the case of a pedophile when two boys went missing brought those feelings to the forefront. She maintained her professionalism, even though she found the man repugnant. He destroyed the lives of his victims, yet he expected sympathy. She left the lab as soon as she wrapped up her evidence, wanting to distance herself as far from the encounter as possible.

When she woke the next morning, she frowned to find Grissom absent. They both were making an effort to spend more time together away from work, but there were still nights when they had to work double shifts. Normally he let her know in advance, and, as far as she knew, he didn't have any pressing cases. After a quick shower and meal, she drove to the lab, but stopped in front of his empty office.

"He left hours ago," a swing shift CSI told her as he walked by.

"Thanks," she answered, her eyebrow going up as she headed to the break room. She took a soda from the refrigerator before sitting at the table. Opening her notebook, her eyes ran over the shorthand without actually reading it.

They had a simple routine – whoever left the lab first went to their respective home, and the other showed up when they got off work. She briefly wondered if she had insulted him when she chided him for snapping at Greg, but she dismissed the idea quickly. He hadn't been upset with her at the time.

_Griss was testy all day. Big surprise. He hates any type of case that involves kids. Working with that freak all night had to bug him. No wonder he wanted some downtime._

He greeted her kindly when he showed up for shift a few hours later, and they talked about upcoming court cases until it was time to hand out assignments. To her surprise, he stayed in his office, sending her out with Catherine and Greg.

For the next few days, Grissom caught up on paperwork, but he went out to the murder of an older woman. The scene was grizzly enough, but when the package containing the miniature version of the crime scene turned up, they both realized they were dealing with someone out of the ordinary. They worked the case thoroughly, but – as with the Izzy Delancy murder – they soon ran out of suspects.

The case continued to intrigue Sara, even when they went to his townhouse for breakfast. Afterwards, he sat on the couch watching a poker match, and she leaned against his side as she tried to read a magazine. Finally tossing it aside, she shifted position so her head rested on his thigh.

"How long do you think it takes to make the clothes for one of those miniatures?" she asked.

Grissom's brow furrowed, and after a beat he shrugged. "They weren't perfect down to the last stitch, but they were close approximations. I don't know, but it had to take a fair amount of time."

"That's what I was thinking."

He reached down to brush a lock of hair from her face. "And why do I think there's something more to your question?"

"Because you taught me," she answered with an affectionate grin. It faded as she sat up and turned to face him. "Griss, how did the killer know what they were going to wear?"

He set down his beer and let out a small huff of air. "I don't know."

"I mean, what's the probability that both of the victims wore the same clothes all the time? They had a closet – well, closets in Izzy's case – full of outfits that they could have been wearing when he went to kill them. He had to dress the dolls after the fact. Did our killer carry around a miniature Sears with him?"

"The smaller side of life," Grissom mused.

"And what are the odds he had all the materials necessary to make a matching outfit with him? Did he go through their closets and make a copy of every outfit they wore?"

"He had minute details of those two rooms. Who knows what else he learned about the victims before killing them?"

"This guy is freaky," Sara said. "What drives someone to obsess like that, to go into that much detail to kill someone?"

"I wish I knew," he said, and the pang of sadness caused Sara to cock her head in concern.

"We'll catch him," she offered reassuringly.

He gave his head a slight bob and drained the last of his beer. She tried to talk him into turning in, but he said he wasn't tired and for her to go ahead without him.

When he crawled into bed later she stirred groggily, and he kissed her forehead before urging her to go back to sleep. She woke later with the weight of his arm and leg draped on top of her, and she snuggled closer to his body.

_He hates loose ends, and this isn't an ordinary case. The guy's terrifying, and who knows if he's going to kill again. I hope he doesn't obsess too much over it._

_Yeah, right. Griss not obsess. It's his nature. He's not going to let this case go until we solve it. Great. We have almost nothing to work with. This is going to keep eating at him._

_He never did take any time off. I think that's a losing cause. He's not going to do it, even if a break would help him._

"Hey," she said softly when he slowly roused from his slumber.

He answered with a contented grin, and they leisurely stayed in bed until they had to get ready for work, having to settle for a quick dinner from a drive-thru. They reviewed the evidence from both the Penny Garden and Izzy Delancy murders, but they failed to find any more clues. Grissom scowled as she put the evidence away, but there was nothing left for them to do.

Their next few cases were mundane, and she was stuck in court all day when the next interesting one turned up. Hearing about it from the guys, she stopped by Grissom's office to talk to him before heading home. When he read her the quote about preferring his lonely pumpkin, she had to grin, knowing he hadn't considered the implication of his statement. She spotted the unfinished crossword puzzle, and immediately teased him about being a misanthrope.

Once home, she grinned wickedly as she prepared for his return, barely turning off the lights and diving under the covers before he let himself in. Pretending to be asleep, she forced herself to be still when he sat on the edge of the bed. For a long time he didn't move, and she started to worry that she had hurt his feelings.

Rolling over, she smiled into his barely visible face. "Wouldn't your pumpkin put out?"

He answered with a kiss, and her eyes opened in surprise as he deepened it, pushing her over so he could lie on top of her. His ardor was short-lived as his hands ran into the wood resting against his pillow.

"Just a little present," she said, sliding up to turn on the bedside lamp. Her lips curled as he rolled over to read the quotation she printed out and stuck in a frame that held an old photograph until a few minutes ago.

"'You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.'" Letting out a sigh, he set it on the bedside table and stared at the ceiling. "Point taken."

"Hey, you know I was joking, right?" she asked softly. When he didn't respond, she leaned over to kiss him reassuringly, her fingers stroking his face lovingly. "You're not a misanthrope. At least not all the time."

He gave her a mock-scowl, wrapping an arm around her to draw her against his chest. "That wasn't from Thoreau," he said after kissing her.

"No. Winnie the Pooh," she answered, grinning at his expression.

"He always was a silly old bear."

"I don't know about that. His companions were more fun than a vegetable."

"Well, I'm came out of the woods for you," Grissom said before rolling them over and capturing her mouth in another passionate kiss as his hands slid under her pajama top.

The next week passed in a pleased fog for Sara as he worked to recover from his verbal faux pas. They spent as much time together as possible, so she was confused when she found him irately paying his bills one morning after shift.

"You okay?" she asked as she handed him a glass of iced tea.

"Those disguises were so obvious," he sneered self-deprecatingly. "I can't believe I didn't notice it immediately."

"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. None of us caught it," she said, pausing to give his shoulder a nudge and smiling warmly. "Not that we're in your league."

"Yes, you are," he answered, his cheerless tone causing her to cock her head questioningly. "You know everything I have to offer. I can't teach you anything else."

Sara wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned against his desk. The mobster's disguises had been amateurish, but they weren't expecting a 'ghost' to be their killer. In hindsight, a lot of their cases seemed obvious, and it wasn't something that normally bothered him.

"I don't know if I'd go that far," she replied honestly. "No one at the lab can identify bugs like you can."

"You know the ones that are likely to show up at a crime scene. The rest is entomology, not criminalistics."

"Don't discount experience. That counts for a lot in our field," she told him, but he tore off another check with a sharp snap of his wrist. Her lips pursed as she debated how to reach him.

His head jerked with an upset expression as she rolled his chair away from the desk, but it quickly morphed as she sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"You know," she purred as she ran a finger along his earlobe, "I think there are still some things you can teach me. Or that we can teach each other. Want to find out?"

His jaw dropped for a moment before he propelled the chair across the room to the couch. Eventually they reached the bedroom, and afterwards she watched him contently as he lay sleeping on the rumpled bed.

Days later, for a belated Thanksgiving dinner they made a return visit to the vegetarian restaurant where they had their first date. Grissom politely, but firmly, refused the special of tofu turkey, settling for another omelet.

As Christmas approached, Sara focused on the work schedule. She and Grissom routinely covered the holidays so those with families could spend the time with them. In the past, they never took the same days off when the others returned, but she wondered if she could talk him into it. It would be a pleasant holiday, and – more importantly – it would give him the break she still felt would benefit him.

Before she had a chance to mention her plan to him, the miniature killer struck again. This time he made a mistake, as his latest victim gave them a connection back to the first murder. It didn't take long to learn that Ernie Dell had created some of the items found in the miniatures, or to link his credit card to the cell phone number each victim had contacted.

She went to Grissom's office excitedly to share the news with him, but she immediately realized something was wrong. His dejected expression was enough of a clue without his uncharacteristic statements. She turned to Catherine, but she seemed in almost a good-humored mood. Unsure what was going on, and unable to ask him at the time, she stuck with the facts. Catherine made no sign of leaving, so Sara decided to talk to him later.

A shooting on the Strip sent her into the field for a while, so when she returned she was surprised to find Grissom sitting in his darkened office.

"Hey," she called out happily as she entered the room. "Did you get a chance to ask Dell about the clothing?"

Before he answered, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she paused in mid-step. Superstition held no sway over her, but a flicker of panic started as she stared at him sitting mutely.

"Griss?" she asked softly.

"Ernie Dell is dead," he stated flatly.

Forcing herself to move closer, she saw his face for the first time, and the flicker grew stronger. Even accounting for the pale light from the monitor, he looked eerily white. "What? How?"

"At precisely 12:34 this morning, he put a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out." He turned to face her directly, and she saw the strain. "I watched him do it."

A thousand questions formed and died in an instant, and she crossed the room rapidly. "I'm driving you home," she said resolutely, hoping he wouldn't resist. To her relief, he followed silently, staring out the front window as she drove to his townhouse. She suspected he'd grab a glass of bourbon, but he only collapsed on the sofa. Tentatively she approached him, slowly easing her arms around his tense form. He allowed the touch, but she didn't know if he drew any comfort from it.

Eventually she coaxed him into the bedroom, talking to him gently as he mechanically changed into his pajamas. It wasn't until she settled beside him hesitantly that he wrapped his arm around her, holding onto her tightly. He never said another word about the suicide, and eventually they fell into a troubled sleep.

She tried to talk him into taking the next day off, but he insisted on going in. He spent the shift in his office, and whenever she stopped by to check on him he was always sorting through documents. She wanted to talk to him, but everyone in the lab had heard what had happened. Every time she turned around, someone was peering into his office to see how he was doing.

At the end of shift, he told her to head to his townhouse, saying he needed to speak to Ecklie for a moment. She agreed and had his breakfast favorites ready when he came in. She greeted him with a hug, taking his hand and leading him to the breakfast bar. Once he sat down, she poured him a mug of coffee.

"How are you doing?" she asked, not entirely expecting an answer. If her cooking hadn't drawn a response, she doubted anything would.

"I've put in for a four-week sabbatical," he told her before reaching for a slice of whole-wheat toast, and she immediately let out a relieved sigh.

_Thank God! He needs this break. I wish he took it before things reached this point, but the time off will still help him. This shook him so badly. He's trying to hide it, but I can tell._

_I'm going to do everything I can to help him with this. I don't know yet what he needs, or how much he'll let me help, but I'll do whatever I can._

_I'll see how much vacation time I can swing while he's off. Maybe we can go into the mountains, somewhere away from the city._

"I'm leaving Las Vegas on January fourth," he said, not noticing the way she snapped her head around. "I need to get away from everything."

"What?" she stammered, unable to keep her voice from shaking.

He looked up with suddenly, offering a consolatory nod as he smiled. "Not from you."

"Where, where are you going?" she asked, forcing away the quaver in her voice.

"Williams. I'll be teaching part of a graduate seminar on Walden."

"This just came up?" She turned so she faced the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup as she told herself it was just a coincidence that he'd read the book earlier.

"Not really. The invitation came a while back."

"Nice of you to tell me," she said, immediately wincing as the words came out sharply.

_He needs the break. This is important to him. Remember that._

_And ignore the fact that he didn't tell me about it? That he didn't warn me? _

_It's not personal._

_The hell it isn't. He really is just like my father – he makes the all decisions. My opinion doesn't matter. I thought he was over that, that he was going to give this a chance. God, was I ever wrong._

_Don't. He just watched a man blow his brains out. It has him rattled. He's not thinking clearly._

_He was thinking clearly when he got that letter. He never mentioned it to me. What am I supposed to think? He obviously didn't turn down the offer then, so he's been considering it for months._

"You're upset." His words cut through her musing and into her soul. He was actually confused by her reaction. Biting her lip, she counted to ten before turning to face him.

She wanted to be there for him, to help him, but he never considered how she'd take the news. Love for him and anger with him vied for domination. Not trusting herself to handle either, she pushed down all emotion, unconsciously starting construction on an inner wall.

"You saw something bad enough to make you want to leave for a month," she replied evenly, forcing herself to keep "me" from the sentence. "Do you think there's any way that I wouldn't be upset?"

"I'll be fine," he insisted, waving towards her empty plate as he started discussing the seminar.

She ignored his droning, resting her hands on the sink edge as her thoughts raced.

_I was afraid all along he was heading for this. I'm the one who told him he needed the vacation. Yeah, he'll be gone for a month, but is it a big deal?_

_It's not the sabbatical. I could deal with him being gone. I wouldn't like it, but I could handle it. But he never trusted me enough to tell me about it. He never considered what this would mean to me._

_Remember how he was when I was going through my shit. He thought it was best that I work through it alone._

_Yeah, but we weren't together at the time. And I never agreed with his rationale._

_What the hell is going on?_

_He's leaving me, and he thinks it's fine. Griss knows he's the only person I've ever counted on being there for me. And I don't even warrant a warning that he's going across the country._

_Maybe I'm being too harsh. He just watched someone commit suicide. It's screwing with him._

_And what about the next time something gets to him? Is he going to leave me again? He's running away, just like he always did. I can't believe that I ever thought he had changed. The only difference is he's pausing long enough for some sex._

_That's not true. No, I can't believe that. It meant more than that. He was too caring, too attentive. And the fact that I'm using past tense isn't telling?_

"Sara?" He watched her with a curious expression, setting down his fork when she remained silent. "Were you listening to what I said about the course? I think the change of pace is just what I need."

Taking a deep breath, she drew on years of experience and faced him steadily. She wanted to be someone who loved unconditionally, and she thought she had for the past months. But everyone she ever grew attached to eventually left her – her parents in a bloody fight, all the faceless foster parents she barely had time to know, the lovers that left her for someone younger, more sociable.

Abandonment was her darkest fear and her deepest flaw. Despite her efforts, questions rose in her mind unbidden: Didn't he trust her to help? Did he want out of the relationship? She tried to fight back the pain, but she lacked both the skill and knowledge to deal with his sudden need to go. Sara knew her past colored her reaction, but life had taught her to be cautious.

_My past left scars. He has to know that._

_I don't know. Maybe I'm the one that's screwed up. I want to be there for him, but I can't do this. I can't. It hurts too much, and I don't know how to deal with it. I don't know how to make this work._

_Maybe it'll blow over. He knows that I'm not happy. Maybe he'll figure it out._

_Right. He has months of vacation time. If all he needed was a break from work, he could have stayed here. He's getting away from me, too._

_Then tell him to stay. Tell him how much this hurts._

_No. I can't do that. If he needs to get away, then I won't stand in his way. He has to figure this out himself. If he can't, then there's no way this will ever work._

_Come on, this is Grissom. He's not exactly a role model for social skills._

_No. I'm tired of making excuses for him. He's a fucking genius. Even with his skills he would have known what he was doing sucked. If cared enough to think about it._

_That's the crux of it, isn't it?_

Willing back her tears, she leaned against the counter and wrapped her arms around her midsection protectively. She kept all trace of irony from her voice when she finally answered him.

"You have to do what's best for you."

* * *

_**The End **_


End file.
